


It's a Long Way Down to the Bottom of the River

by RiverOfFandoms



Series: Daryl Dixon [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Romance, Separations, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Survival, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23960746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverOfFandoms/pseuds/RiverOfFandoms
Summary: After months of treading the darkness that became the world you used to know, you reunite with Rick's group after the prison has fallen. A familiar pair of blue eyes came to save you from yourself.“You ever gonna tell me what happened to you?” Daryl asked in a rush, as if he had been hesitating to ask. He looked at you, finishing his mouthful, expecting an answer.You looked at your plate.“Because what happened back at Terminus… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help you. I wanted to—”“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, interrupting him, and you looked at him. “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t need your help.”“Y/N—”“Just leave it, alright?”He kept his eyes on you. He just wanted to help you. But he wasn’t one to push you, he wouldn’t do that to you, not after all the patience you’d had with him before. “Alright.”This work will be part of a series eventually, for now, I'm posting chapters of Part One.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon & Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon & You, Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character(s), Daryl Dixon/You, Philip Blake | The Governor/You
Series: Daryl Dixon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727455
Comments: 35
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE: Each chapter has a flashback to provide context on your's and Daryl's relationship. I liked the idea of the episode at Terminus using THEN and NOW structure so I implemented it in this fic. I preferred it this way instead of chronologically because it gave the chapters smoother transitions instead of being so fragmented. Hope it isn't too confusing.

**_Now._ **

Daryl’s eyes widened as he spotted you, hands bound to each other behind your back, a bloodied and sweat-soaked tank-top clung to your torso. Your eyes were just as wide, maybe even wider.

You thought you might be dreaming. A trick, a hallucination – something like it, it wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. But he didn’t disappear, didn’t fizzle away or turn into somebody else who only _looked_ like him. No, it was him alright. His hair was a little longer than you remembered, his eyes a little darker, a leather vest replaced the flannel. A little older. But you could never mistake those eyes for anybody else’s.

He swallowed, breathing steadily. His eyes darted across the group; trying to predetermine the unknown’s next moves. They all had a tight grip on his friends; Michonne, Rick, Carl, you. He never quite expected to see your face again.

There was only one way out of this mess, Daryl knew it.

But his eyes couldn’t escape yours. “I found you,” he breathed.

***

**_Then._ **

You were crouched in the thick shrubbery when you saw them. You were after a couple of rabbits when the noise they made scattered them too far away, disappearing into the trees. You wanted to whine about it, but you didn’t want to alert the two men that stood a little far off from you, inspecting whatever it was they were staring at in the dirt.

You sighed almost silently and decided to observe until there was a clear moment to safely move away.

“Do you think…?” one man questioned but couldn’t finish as he bit his tongue to keep himself from saying it. He was crouched down beside the other man and both figures still blocked the view of the dirt in front of them. He was wearing a brown deputy sheriff’s hat paired with khaki-colored, county-police uniform.

He certainly looked out of place, you thought, and resisted the urge to snigger at the irony of his appearance.

“I dunno,” the other man, who had a real redneck look about him, replied, sitting back on his heels, “but it doesn’t hurt to look, then at least we know for certain, right?” You still weren’t sure what they were talking about. The man who replied to the deputy wore a flannel-vest, button up shirt and he had a pretty nifty crossbow slung over his shoulder.

And you thought _you_ were lucky to own a quiver of arrows and a bow, imagine having a crossbow as your primary weapon in all this chaos.

They discussed their plans for a little while longer, both men had thick, Georgian accents. You were only a little used to it by now but sometimes you had to strain your ear to understand it properly, especially with men as they seemed to mutter more.

Then, you watched as the redneck tossed his weapon beside him in the dirt and pulled out a large hunting knife. You admired it from a distance. That would certainly be of use if you had one like it. Then he plunged the knife straight down and you heard a soft, tearing noise – then an echo of ripping flesh and muscle.

You slapped a hand over your mouth to cover your gasp but fortunately for you, no sound made it past your throat, you were so surprised. Just a shock of air. You kept your hand over your mouth nonetheless and watched with wide eyes as you finally understood what it was that they were doing. Though, you didn’t _completely_ understand.

You had thought it was a body that they teared through. And yes, it was, but not a freshly killed one. It was one of them. Those things. The ones that came back, so who knows how long it had been dead before these guys ripped into it. The question was, why?

You watched carefully as he changed position slightly so you could see him dig his hand through the blood and organs, which was an abnormal dark color, and didn’t surprise you the least bit, and saw his face squish into an unpleasant looking one. _Well_ , you thought, _at least he wasn’t enjoying sticking his hand in there_.

You were curious to find out what it was that he was looking for when a shape off in the distance caught your attention. It was soundless, which was unusual. And it was quick. You wanted to shout out at the men because they hadn’t even noticed it yet, with all the digging around in guts and all, and you soon realized that they might not even reach their weapons in time if you did alert them of the dead thing running towards them.

It was like none you’d ever seen. Tall and skinny, light on their feet. No shoes, which minimized the scuffing sounds of their dead shuffle. But it was hardly shuffling.

With blood rushing in your veins from the sudden burst of danger, you quickly loaded your bow. Just as the dead thing neared the crossbow guy, literally inches from clawing at his naked, sweat-slicked flesh, you released the arrow, so it struck right through its head.

With a moment’s hesitation, the body lingered upright as if contemplating which direction it should fall. Both men had looked up at the sound of the arrow – the redneck turned to look as soon as the arrow left its place in your bow, spotting your crouched position immediately – and now they were quickly backing away, weapons in hand and standing upright.

The dead body fell into the dirt, right next to the other corpse.

The crossbow was loaded quickly and pointed in your direction, behind the bush you were hiding in. He wasted no time. “Show yourself or I’ll shoot,” he ordered with a stern voice, arrow at the ready. His friend, the deputy, had some kind of machete or axe in one hand, though his fingers were itching for his gun tucked into its holster.

You stood up slowly from the bush, your bow already loaded with another arrow. You kept it aimed at the crossbow-guy, but your heart was beating right through your chest, almost.

“You shoot me, and he’ll shoot back, you know,” crossbow-guy stated, matter of fact.

“I don’t want to shoot either of you,” you replied, trying your best to keep your voice from shaking with nerves. It wasn’t every day that you threatened the lives of the living ones.

“Well,” deputy said, his voice loud but calm, “neither do we.”

You wanted to believe him because of his uniform but who knows if he robbed it off some poor corpse. You wanted to believe that two guys in the middle of the woods wouldn’t harm you, but this world was different now, hell, even in the before you would be nervous if caught in a situation like this. Especially since they were just digging their hands into a dead thing.

“What the hell are you doing with the corpse?” you asked bravely, keeping your aim strong. You knew that if your aim shook with your nerves, the redneck would be able to spot it a mile away. He had a hunter’s ear and eye, that’s what your dad would’ve said.

Deputy looked to the other man and then back to you, “We’re… checking. To see if…” he couldn’t seem to finish.

You waited for a response, but it seemed that neither of them could give one. “You know, you can’t go around eating those things, right?” you pressed, knowing that the answer they gave you would be the deciding factor on whether to shoot or not.

Crossbow-guy huffed, “Fine. We’re checking the stomach to see if he’s eaten a little girl we’re searching for. She got separated from the rest of us, from her mother, and we’re trying to find her before it gets dark. We thought we should check… because then we’d know, for sure.”

You lowered your bow. And it didn’t take them long to lower their own weapons, too. Though there was slight reluctance from the redneck.

“Have you seen her? A little girl, ‘bout twelve?” Deputy asked, taking his hat off and running a nervous hand through his damp hair.

You shook your head. “Sorry. I… I haven’t seen anyone, just a couple of rabbits, you two and those corpses.”

Deputy nodded. He looked concerned. It seemed as if they were telling the truth which was helpful but unfortunate, you wouldn’t want to be that little girl, lost in the woods without her mom. The deputy finally put his hat back on and stuck out a hand to you as you neared them, still cautious, he said, “Rick Grimes,” and then gestured to his companion, “this is Daryl.”

“Y/N,” you replied, and shook his hand. You didn’t particularly want to shake Daryl’s, because of the blood and guts, and he knew it, so he didn’t offer it.

“Did you find anything?” you asked.

Daryl, suddenly quiet, shook his head, “Just a mongoose. Found the skull.” He looked over at the other corpse that you shot down, “Guess we should check that one too.”

It was quick but the noise was merciless. He found rat bones and that was all.

He wiped his hands as best he could and somehow, it didn’t really seem to bother him much. You weren’t that surprised… but you wouldn’t be able to do a task like that.

“We’ve got a group up at the highway,” Rick started, sheathing his weapon in his belt. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, “You’re welcome to join us. We don’t have much… but we could always use more people.”

You thought it over a moment but there wasn’t really much keeping you from walking back with them. You’d been sleeping up in the trees, which was uncomfortable, but safe. But only because you were by yourself, if you had others, you wouldn’t have to worry about strapping yourself up somewhere high. And you were on your last quarter of water and the rabbits were long gone by now.

“Sure, that sounds great.”

“It’s the least we can do, you know, for the walker,” Rick said, and began to lead the way through the trees, up to where his group was waiting on the highway.

“Walker?” you asked.

“It’s what we call ‘em,” Daryl answered, keeping his eyes focused ahead of him.

“What do you call them?” Rick asked earnestly, despite the rough attitude from Daryl. It seemed he was trying to calm the tension. You didn’t really think to take Daryl’s attitude personally though, you just guessed it was his part of his personality. Besides, it was a rough world you lived in, now.

“Corpses. Dead guys.”

Rick chuckled, “Fair enough.”


	2. Chapter 2

**_Now._ **

“I found you,” Daryl breathed, his voice barely holding any volume to it.

The men, who had you trapped, except for Daryl, stared at him almost bewildered.

The old man, Joe, who made it his mission to torment you the past couple of weeks, turned his head towards Daryl as he approached you all. Joe shook his head at him, “You’re not telling me you know this bitch, huh?”

Daryl blinked, swallowing the dryness in his mouth. He wasn’t particularly scared, but he was so afraid of losing you again, he had to tread carefully. He had to fix this. “I know her. I know them, too. I know ‘em all,” he confessed.

Joe’s eyes widened. He laughed a dry, humorless laugh but didn’t loosen his grip on Rick, who was knelt in front of him in the dirt, a gun shoved into the back of his skull.

You tried to catch Rick’s eyes, but he was too busy staring at Daryl.

Joe’s voice became a whole lot more vicious, “Well, your _friends_ here have been causing me a whole lotta trouble. One of our members got killed while takin’ a shit and that was only a couple of days ago, huh Rick?” he shoved his gun harder against the back of Rick’s head, and Rick only stared up at Daryl, ignoring the fear growing in the pit of his stomach.

“And don’t even get me _started_ on that little whore. You know what she did? She helped a bunch of shitbags steal our supplies one night and wouldn’t tell us where their camp was. Not until some nights ago, except by then the whole camp had already fucked off somewhere else and she escaped straight after.”

The man who stood behind you tightened his grip on you, and then he shoved your face down into the dirt. You tilted your head so you could breathe, so you didn’t inhale dust, and tried kicking out his legs but he pinned them down by clenching his knees together, holding them still. You struggled against his grip, all while trying not to get a mouthful of dirt. “ _Bastard!”_ you yelled, knowing that if you couldn’t escape, there was only one way this would go. And you wouldn’t let that happen, you couldn’t, not now.

“Let her go,” Daryl quickly said, taking a defiant step closer. His crossbow was slung over one shoulder, but you’ve seen him be quick to aim and release an arrow before. “Let ‘em all go.”

“I told you, these people pissed me off and they deserve what’s coming. You can’t change my mind—”

“I did it. It was me. Just let them go.”

Joe looked as though he considered it but maybe he was only pretending to. He shook his head again at the absurd suggestion, “So, you’re telling me, you killed one of my men _and_ stole my supplies?” he laughed and the cruel sound filled the night air, “Boys, we got a liar. Beat him down.”

“No!” you screamed, as one man after another started punching Daryl until he stumbled to the ground, and then they kicked in his ribs and stomach.

“This is your fault,” Joe said, eyeing you with venom.

“I did it alone!” Rick yelled, watching as Daryl took more blows than he thought possible. They were going to kill him, and he knew it. He had to stop them.

“I know, Rick,” Joe said, “But we don’t like liars.” Joe pushed his gun deeper against Rick’s skull and said, “Now, after my men kill your friend over there, they’ll have their way with that little boy, that black girl, and that _bitch_. And I’ll tell you, some of ‘em have been waiting to do that to her since the first time we caught her, so I can’t guarantee any patience.”

You struggled against the man who had you pinned down still. You weren’t letting it happen without a fight.

“ _Fuck you!_ ” you spat at Joe; your chin pushed into the dirt.

He laughed, ignoring your useless threat.

You twisted in the man’s grip. His fingers squeezed around the back of your neck. You kicked your leg up as high as you could, while still lying on your stomach, and managed to clip the guy right in the balls, hard.

He groaned and you flipped over onto your back as soon as his hands released their grip, still lying underneath him. You stared up at the guy’s sweaty, ugly face and screamed out of frustration. You grabbed the guys groin and squeezed hard and yelled even louder.

Michonne turned and slapped the guy’s arm who stood behind her. The gun went off and a loud gunshot cracked through the cold, still air.

You kicked the guy off you before he could grab you again and you saw Rick begin his attack on Joe out of the corner of your eye.

You jumped on the guy and punched him again and again. Michonne struggled to get the upper hand, Carl was whimpering, you couldn’t even hear Daryl groaning anymore and… you grabbed the gun and pulled the trigger, all too quickly, without hesitation, and saw the man crumple at your feet.

Rick yelled behind you and you ducked, just in case, but as you turned to look, you watched as Rick bit into Joe’s throat and ripped it out with just his teeth, blood spurting onto his face and hair.

Joe fell down, his hands reaching for the wound in his throat, but it would be fatal.

Rick jumped at the guy who had Carl in his grip, and when Carl ran to the comfort of Michonne, Rick stuck his machete deep into the guy’s stomach and tore it open by yanking it upwards. Guts and blood spilled out of the man’s stomach and you knew in that moment that you’d never forget the look in Rick’s eyes.

***

**_Then._ **

You woke up in the early hours of the morning. The sun must have only just started to rise because of the dim golden light that shone through the thin material of the tent. You could hear the tweeting and chirps of the early morning birds that occupied the Greene farm.

You could get used to it. This place. The safety it provided the group. Even after Rick’s son, Carl, got shot by Otis, or Otis sacrificing his life for Shane’s and Carl’s… even after the looming threat of walkers and missing Sophia… it was better than what you’d experienced so far. Which was wandering the Georgian countryside alone, eating rabbits.

You sighed sleepily and readjusted your neck a little, tugging the sleeping bag up to your chin again. But something felt weighted on your stomach and you noticed fingers curled around your shirt. You only realized it then that Daryl’s arm was draped over your waist, his hand and calloused fingers touching the sliver of skin that was exposed of your stomach. You felt a sort of embarrassed flush rush to your cheeks and fought the urge to jump up and run.

Daryl only recently offered you a share of his tent, a scrappy old thing he found on one of his runs. Previously, he’d been sleeping in the grass in a ratty sleeping bag amongst the other tents. You were content to still sleep in a tree, though you had hoped that that would change. But it was better than having to keep one eye open all night long on the lookout for walkers, like you had to do before meeting the group.

But once he set the thing up and started using it, he felt a little guilty that you were the only one left out in the night air. And since it was getting a little colder… besides, what harm would it be to share a tent with a young thing like you? At least, that’s what his brother Merle would have argued.

Since the Greene’s didn’t allow anyone to sleep up inside the house, you only had the trees. But because Daryl started to have this weird soft spot for you, a feeling he couldn’t quite understand or explain, he offered you a spot in his two-man tent. Which you happily accepted, albeit a little unsure at first. But it was the apocalypse, societal rules hardly applied anymore, so sharing a small, cramped, cozy tent with a man you only just started to get to know didn’t have the same threatening tone as it used to. In all honesty, it sounded safer. It was all about survival these days.

“Mm- _f_ ,” he sighed, still sound asleep. His fingers uncurled and curled again, and his head nestled up close to your neck. You could feel his breath against your skin.

You decided that it wasn’t so bad to have a grown man curl up against you. It wasn’t like he was doing anything super inappropriate, just unexpected. And he didn’t really know he was doing it, after all. Besides, the comfort of his affection was… nice.

You thought you might drift off to sleep when he moved all of a sudden. A slight grumble escaped his lips. Then, he sat up, his arm disappearing from your waist and you felt cold without it. He sat upright a moment, “Shit,” he breathed, but didn’t notice that you weren’t exactly asleep.

He paused there, lingered momentarily above you, and then turned over so his back was facing yours.

After a little while, you bravely turned over to face his back and almost laughed at the stretch of space he put between you both.

***

When it happened again, after a few days, you happily turned over to face him so you could nestle into his chest and neck. But your eyes widened when you stared into a pair of open eyes and almost gasped.

He frowned and even in the dim light, you could see his cheeks reddening. He quickly let go of his embrace and turned over, scooting as far away as he possibly could to the opposite side of the tent.

You suddenly felt so embarrassed that you had to leave the tent a minute to cool down. When you came back, Daryl was fast asleep. Or appeared to be.

The next morning, he was cold to you. Normally, he’d greet you in the morning after you got up since he was usually the first one to get up and out of the tent. He liked to go hunting as early as possible, most days. And sometimes, only sometimes, he let you join him.

Like that one time when he decided to take you out in the morning to teach you about rabbit snares. You’d followed him out of the tent, blinking the sleep away furiously, before he shoved a mug of coffee into your hands, so you’d at least be able to shoot straight. You gulped that down fast as lightning and he couldn’t help but have a chuckle over it. The sight of you tucked into your dark hoodie trying to force your eyes to stay open while swallowing down the stuff made him think of simpler times.

Then, he got you out into the swamp and woods to start the lesson. It wasn’t like the day had been planned out the night before. You didn’t even know about it. He just woke you up and ordered you about, and you had the good sense to listen to him.

“Simple as that,” he said, presenting you with a finished snare. “You wanna have a go?”

“Sure,” you answered, grabbing the wire he offered. You attempted to follow his instructions, but you were pretty certain that you hadn’t had enough caffeine to be able to do it.

As you were busy trying to set it up, Daryl suddenly asked, “So, how’d you learn to hunt?”

You felt a little pang of hurt at the question but of course, it wasn’t his intention. You struggled with the wire, your fingers slippery and your patience running thin, “My Dad. He grew up in Georgia on a farm, his family a hunting and fishing kind.”

“You didn’t?” You could see out of the corner of your eye that he was looking very curiously at you.

Of course, you didn’t. If it wasn’t already obvious in your different accent, then it must have been in your sloppy hunting technique. Though, you weren’t as bad as you once thought. But you have had a lot of practice since then, with all this survival of the fittest kind-of-living.

“No, I didn’t. My Dad moved away a long time ago, I think because of his job. Then I was born. Moved out to college eventually, I was the last one to go, so Dad and Mom moved back here since they didn’t have anyone to take care of anymore. I think Dad missed the place.”

You paused a moment as you thought you started to get the hang of it, and you smiled, “I flunked out of college because I’m a dumbass and I hate studying. I moved back in with them and worked at a few places, my favorite was the library. Dad started teaching me more about hunting and fishing while showing me all the places he learned at and grew up in.” You swallowed the emotions away because you only wanted to think of it as a happy time and not have to miss him so much. You finished the snare and held it up for Daryl to inspect.

Daryl blinked as he realized you were finished and took it from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours. He looked it over and said, “A little messy but I think it will work.” He led you to a place to set them up, “Good thing I don’t rely on them to get us our dinner.”

“Walkers?” you guessed.

He nodded, “They get a free treat if you don’t check the snares in time. But sometimes it works, and it’s always nice to come back to an extra rabbit or two after hunting for so long.”

Daryl stood back to admire his work and then grabbed his crossbow, “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

He started on a trail but then quickly stopped a moment, his back to you still, he said, “Sorry ‘bout your family. If mine weren’t such a piece of shit, I think I’d understand how you feel a bit better,” he turned toward you, clutching his crossbow. “I lost my brother Merle. Son of a bitch might still be out there somewhere, but I don’t know. He’s not the kindest or the best brother in the world, but he’s still family, you know?”

You nodded. “I hope you find him.”

Daryl smiled just a little, it wasn’t really a smile. The kind you do when you’re trying to show your appreciation. A thank you smile, without the words. Then, he turned to go.

But this morning wasn’t like that. After the embarrassing eye contact last night, it seemed Daryl had decided to just pretend it never happened, but not in the way that all was forgiven.

You were out hunting but you weren’t hunting together, like usual. He sped off as soon as he woke up. You were on his trail, though he was good at confusing you. You weren’t the greatest at tracking, but Daryl had taught you a few tricks.

When you thought you’d never catch onto him, you heard a distant rustle in a bush. You followed the sound and saw a rabbit hopping out of the shrubbery and into a small clearing. You lifted your bow at the ready and loaded an arrow. When you saw a sliver of sunlight reflecting off Daryl’s crossbow opposite to you, you didn’t hesitate to release your arrow. It pierced the rabbit before Daryl could shoot at it.

“What the hell?” he said angrily, coming out of the shadow of trees. “That rabbit was mine!”

You stepped out of the bushes and slung your bow over your shoulder, “Sure, take it, I don’t care.”

He stopped before he could pick the dead rabbit up from the grass, its blood speckled the greenery, “What?” he asked, confused by your complacency.

“I said, you can have it. I don’t care.”

He glared at you, suddenly extremely annoyed by your attitude, “Of course, I can have it. It’s _mine_.”

You rolled your eyes at him and turned around, headed for the farm, when he grabbed your arm and pulled you back to face him again. You twisted your arm free, glaring at him.

“What’s your problem?” he asked, frustrated.

“ _My_ problem?” you practically laughed, shaking your head. “What the hell is _your_ problem?”

“It was my rabbit!” he argued.

“I’m not talking about the stupid rabbit, Daryl!”

He paused, frowning, but he knew what you meant. Of course, he did. He shuffled his feet nervously, “I didn’t do anything.”

“You’ve been ignoring me all morning.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, floundering for words, brows furrowed, “I don’t have to talk to you every morning.”

“Okay, sure,” you said, having had enough of this conversation. If he was going to act like a child, then you were going to treat him like one.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t hugging you last night, okay? I was asleep. I didn’t know what I was doing. You turned around, and I woke up, and—”

“Who cares if you were, Daryl?” you interrupted, staring at him in the eyes.

He blinked, finding your response to be unexpected.

“I don’t care if you do,” you continued.

He frowned harder, “I wasn’t. _You_ were hugging me,” he said angrily, “and don’t do it again or I’ll kick you out of my tent, okay?” he threatened, pushing past you as if you’d said something so offensive.

You thought you’d ruined your chances at being able to sleep undercover. You thought you ruined your chances at being able to form some kind of friendship with this man, who seemed so different from the others yet had the same heart, though buried deep down inside, only shown to others when helping them in times of need.

“What’s up with him?” Rick asked, when you got back to the farm. Daryl had the lead, so he got back before you, and was obviously pissed off by the way he practically ignored everyone’s warm welcomes or questions.

“Don’t ask,” you sighed, looking after Daryl as he headed towards the camp.

“Whatever it is,” Rick started, “sort it out. I need you both cooperating, alright? We got a missing girl to find…”

You nodded, “Alright.”

Later that night, once again inside the tent, you decided to put an end to the little feud you both had going once and for all. Even if it risked your place inside the tent.

“Daryl?”

He was turned away from you again, “I’m sleeping,” he huffed, burying his head deeper into his pillow.

“I don’t care. You listen to me and listen to me good.” You weren’t sure if that would piss him off or actually catch his attention but you knew that once you’d opened your mouth, there wouldn’t be much of a chance at keeping your spot in the tent anyway, “I don’t care if we end up cuddling by the time the sun rises, alright? I actually like it. And to hell with your brother or your father, or whoever it was that made you feel as though you couldn’t like _normal_ human contact because sometimes, it’s needed. It’s a tough fucking world out there now and there’s nothing wrong with having a little comfort. So, stop being a _pussy_ and shifting the blame to me when, really, you should just man up and accept the fact that you like it too.”

You looked at him only after you finished your spiel, and to be quite honest, you were a little scared at how he might react.

He stared at you from across the tent. You couldn’t really tell how he was feeling because it was so dark, you could hardly see his face. You were preparing yourself for the worst, though.

“Are you done?” he asked, carefully.

You swallowed, now he was probably going to gather you up in your sleeping bag and toss you out into the dead of night. “Yes, I’m done.”

“Good,” he said, and turned over to his other side.

You turned over too and pulled your sleeping bag up to your chin. You were sure he’d kick you out. But it didn’t seem like he was going to, so you soon fell asleep.

When you woke up, Daryl’s arms were around you again. You thought about slowly twisting yourself free from him, without waking him up, and getting an early start on the day so that he’d never know.

But just as you really considered attempting to escape without his knowledge, you felt his arms pull you closer into him, his face pressed against the back of your neck. He hugged you tighter to him and sighed, “Morning.” His voice was rough with sleep.

“M-morning,” you stammered, your heart racing at his arms wrapped so confidently around you. You realized you sounded nervous, so you tried to play it off, “Sleep okay?”

He sighed sleepily into your neck, his lips barely brushing against your skin, “Mm-hm.”

You felt yourself calm down in an instant and you smiled. “Good.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**_Now._ **

After Michonne and Rick took down the last guys, Rick having practically disemboweled the one who had Carl in his grip, you rushed over to Daryl. He leaned against the car, his feet shuffling in the gravel, his face bruised and bleeding.

“Daryl!” you shouted and reached out towards him. You held his face, gentle, careful not to hurt him anymore. You couldn’t believe he’d found you. After getting separated at the farm, when the herd tore the Greene’s farm apart looking for fresh meat, he rode off on his bike with Carol when you couldn’t find a way to get to him. You tried to secure a ride with the others, but they all left so fast. You saw Andrea running into the woods and that was the last person from your group that you saw before being left behind all those months ago...

Until a day ago, when you stumbled across Rick and Carl and their friend, Michonne, after you got free from Joe. They said that there was an attack on their camp, at their prison, a guy with an eyepatch. Everyone got separated again. You didn’t want to count the days it had been since you last saw them, so long ago, at Hershel’s farm.

“Daryl?” you whispered, waiting for him to respond.

“Y/N…” he said, his hands found your face too. He clumsily held your cheeks, as if feeling that you really _were_ there. You laughed. He pulled you into a hug, “You’re real.”

“I am,” you confirmed, hugging him back. 

“How the hell…?” he asked Rick, who approached you both with blood smeared across his face, clinging to his beard and the damp ringlets of his hair.

Rick shrugged, “I don’t know. One minute, we’re eating chocolate bars and lukewarm canned soup and the next, she’s standing over us like some wild thing, eyes wide and hair all over her face,” he chuckled, smiling at you.

“I just… I just couldn’t stop running after I managed to cut myself loose. That was a while ago. I didn’t have anywhere to go so I just kept going… then I saw their campfire. Then I saw them.”

It was true, you had seen the orange flames from a distance and heard their quiet chatter. You didn’t recognize their voices or their faces for that matter, not until you got close enough so that they saw you, too. They’d changed so much. Rick’s face wasn’t clean shaven, he had a wild beard and a wild mess of hair. And Carl… Carl had grown up so much.

You weren’t going to approach them at first, you’d learned your lesson from trusting strangers before, but you were so hungry and so tired, you thought that either way, you’d probably die so what did it matter? And when you practically fell at their feet, they jumped up and pointed their guns at you, yelling. And you stood there a moment, wide-eyed, recognizing Rick and Carl. You almost cried.

“You?” you had said, a whisper, and then tore off your hood so they could see your face in the dim light of the warm fire.

Rick squinted at first, but his eyes soon registered your familiarity, “Y/N…?” He laughed and brought you into a hug, in which Carl joined too, and you met Michonne and talked briefly about the prison they stayed at before the separation. They told you who had passed since leaving the farm. Shane, Lori, T-Dog, Hershel, Andrea… and those were the only ones they were sure of.

Then Joe and his friends came along.

Daryl looked at you, _really_ looked at you. He couldn’t quite believe that you were here. He never forgot about you, but it had been so long since the farm that he was sure something must have happened to you. He knew you had it in you to survive, he didn’t doubt that, but even the toughest eventually fell down.

Then he felt a familiar wave of guilt rush through him. He’d stopped trying to find you. It was around the time they got the prison together. Life became so busy that he couldn’t spend days tracking the county to find signs of your whereabouts. He’d found absolutely nothing, and it felt like a hopeless cause. And after the first attack by the Governor on the prison, when he went out with Michonne to look for the bastard, he’d sometimes look for you too. But it was too painful, and he knew he had to forget it. He thought that you were gone, for good.

But you were standing right there, right now, in front of him. Scarred and dirty, bloodied, but alive and breathing.

“You were alone, after the prison?” Rick questioned Daryl, assuming he joined up with those guys so that he could get fed and have his back watched.

He shook his head, “Nah… Beth was with me. Then somebody took her, I don’t know who, but I think she’s alive.”

“We’re going to Terminus,” Michonne said quickly. “That’s why we were following the train tracks. We think the others might go there, too. It might be the easiest way to meet up with everyone again.”

You’d seen the signs around the place. Terminus. A Sanctuary for all. You didn’t believe it but that was because you didn’t believe in anything anymore. People were worse than the damn dead things that crawled over the earth, eating everyone in their path. But if Daryl were going to Terminus, you’d follow.

“Then… if we find Maggie, we can tell her about Beth. If we find the others, we can all try to find her, together,” Rick suggested.

Daryl nodded, “Sounds like a plan.”

Rick threw his bag on and tucked his gun into its holster, “We’re not going in unprepared. I don’t think I have to explain why we shouldn’t just trust these people at Terminus. If anything goes wrong, we’ll be ready.”

***

**_Then._ **

You spotted Daryl sitting out in the field. He was perched on a rock near the tree line, far away from the place in the ground that they had started burying the bodies, since the deaths had grown in size. First, it was only Otis. But then… Shane opened the door to the barn and a lot of walkers were killed. Among them were people that the group had known, or the Greene’s.

Sophia.

And then last night, Dale.

You thought about just leaving him be. He often sat on his own when there wasn’t anything that needed to be done straight away. But after he had to put Dale down and seeing Sophia as a walker…

“You should go talk to him,” said a voice beside you, all of a sudden.

You glanced to your side and met eyes with Glenn. You sighed. “I don’t know… Maybe he just needs time to himself.”

Glenn shook his head, “He’s had all the time in the world to himself. I mean, he had his brother before the farm, before all this, but I don’t imagine that that’d make him feel any less lonely. You…” he paused, looking out to where Daryl sat with his crossbow, cleaning it with an old cloth, “You can talk to him, you know? You understand him, more than us. And he understands you.”

You looked at Glenn, considering what he said. He wasn’t wrong, most days, you felt as though you knew Daryl more than anyone you’d ever met in your life, and that included the time before the walkers. But other days… when he’d grow distant, when he’d yell at you or act cold, you felt like he was a completely different person. But then again, somehow, you always knew what to say, you always still understood where he was coming from, no matter if he was angry or sad.

“Daryl wasn’t a bad guy before you came along but… he had his trouble, mostly because of Merle. I’ve seen him change since you found us.”

You nodded, “I’ll go talk to him. I… Thanks, Glenn.”

He nodded, “Oh, and ask him to come along after you’ve talked. Maggie and I are going on a supply run and I need a couple more people to cover more ground this time. Can you come too?”

“Will do,” you said, always ready to help.

As you walked off towards Daryl, you thought about what you might say to him once you got there, like all the times before. Planning sentences, thinking about how to approach some of the topics. But you knew, and you knew this every time, it never mattered what you planned inside your head, it would never go the way you hoped it would.

You approached Daryl carefully, and you knew he heard your footsteps, but he didn’t turn towards the sound. Instead, he stared into the trees.

“Hey,” you said softly, thinking about touching his shoulder out of comfort.

“What?” he asked, without turning to look at you.

“Wanted to know how you’re going,” you replied, hand resting on your hip. You willed him to look at you, to say he was okay, but there was only silence. “Daryl.”

“I’m fine,” he suddenly said, and he quickly stood up from the rock. He slung the crossbow over his shoulder and pushed past you, walking back in the direction of the house.

“Daryl,” you said again, turning after him. You followed a few steps until he stopped in the field, his back to you.

“What do you want?” he huffed out of frustration. He turned to you, his eyes dark and his frown hard. His lips were pulled in too tightly, like he was chewing his lip. He opened his mouth instead of waiting for you to reply and said, “Why you gotta know how I’m doing all of a sudden? ‘Cos of last night? ‘Cos, I had to shoot Dale? You think I can’t handle it?”

You shook your head, “That’s _not_ what I’m saying—”

“Then just back off.”

“Alright,” you said, refraining from audibly sighing, you knew it would only piss him off more. “Okay…” you thought about leaving, but remembered what Glenn wanted you to ask of him. You weren’t sure if Daryl should go on a supply run if he was this pissed but then again, maybe that was what he needed.

“Glenn wanted me to ask if you can go with him and Maggie and me to look for supplies. He said he needed a couple extra people this time, I think they want it to be a quick run considering how things have been going.”

Daryl looked at you a moment, then to his feet. He nodded his head.

“Alright,” you said, and began to walk past him back to the house. You’d just have to hope that he really was okay.

***

Glenn and Maggie led the way on their horse, while you rode near them on the back of Daryl’s motorbike, who kept at a safe distance so the horse wouldn’t get scared. You hadn’t ridden on one since long before the apocalypse began. There weren’t many walkers on the road to avoid so it wasn’t much trouble getting to the small town that Glenn and Maggie had mapped out.

You were to split up so that both buildings could be swept for medical supplies and food, and whatever else just happened to be lying about that would be of use. Maggie and Glenn took one building and you were left with Daryl to inspect the other. You had a thought that those two had been growing strangely close with one another…

Daryl was quiet, as usual, but the silence felt almost forced. It wasn’t like you were angry at Daryl for not talking to you, you were used to that. But you weren’t sure he wanted to be around you much since the conversation out in the field. Luckily, you didn’t really feel like talking much either.

You collected supplies as quick as lightning. It wasn’t a small building, but it wasn’t that large either and a lot of the shelves had already been ransacked. Things were tossed around carelessly; thankfully, you had some use for them still. You wondered if the mess had happened right after the outbreak of the virus, in the panicked crowds of survivalists, or if it had happened recently.

Daryl and you both filled your backpacks as much as you could with what you needed. You shoved a couple of small packets of gummy bears in your pockets, too, which Daryl side eyed. You didn’t bother to offer him one knowing he’d probably just tell you it was a waste of space.

You both waited a few minutes back out on the road near the horse and the bike in continued silence, but it seemed that Maggie and Glenn weren’t ready to leave just yet.

“I bet they’re screwing each other,” Daryl stated, matter of fact.

You turned to him and stifled a laugh with your hand and saw his lips curve into a barely noticeable smile. Then he nodded over in the direction of another building across the way a little, “You wanna go check it out? They’ll probably be a while.”

You looked over at where he gestured to and saw a small, old building with large stone steps at the entrance. You peered up at the sign that indicated it was a library. You smiled. You’d told Daryl that you worked at a library before all of this and he must have remembered. You turned to him and nodded, so the pair of you ditched the others and made your way inside the old building.

Most of the time, when scavenging or looting buildings, everything would be a total mess. But inside the library looked almost completely untouched. Of course, if anyone happened upon this small town, they wouldn’t bother looking through some old books.

The smell of the old pages, the dim lighting, the old, pine shelves upon shelves of books took you back to another life, another world, and it seemed so far away from anything dangerous, anything ugly. Your fingers traced the spines as you walked through one of the aisles. You recognized the authors and realized you were walking through the classics. For a moment, it really did feel as if things were… normal.

Then you walked out of the end of the aisle and spotted Daryl sitting on the information desk, his crossbow splayed over the tabletop, his fingers turning pages of a _Batman_ comic. He was snacking on a packet of gummy bears.

“You a fan of the Bat?” you asked, jokingly. You couldn’t really imagine Daryl reading comics, but then again, he must have been a kid once, though, you could hardly imagine it.

“Nah, not really,” he said, dropping the comic back onto the desk, “I like the, uh… the red one, you know, who runs fast.”

You laughed, “ _The Flash_?”

“ _Ye-up_ ,” he said, hiding his smile. He ditched the gummy-bear packet onto the floor once it was finished, “Used to read him all the time when I was a kid. He could just run fast as hell and get away from anyone or anything…”

You smiled a little, though it might have been a sad smile. You didn’t know much about Daryl’s family but the few sarcastic comments he had made suggested that they weren’t the best kind of people. You took a couple steps closer to him, “I thought you might have been a… _Green Arrow_ kinda guy.”

Daryl stared at you in silence, a curious look in his eyes, “You’re a fuckin’ nerd. I don’t even know who that is, but I get the damn joke,” he chuckled, shaking his head.

You laughed too and jumped up on the information desk to sit beside him. You swiped up a book and turned it over in your hands. It was your favorite book, which was why it caught your eye immediately. Your fingers rested on the hardcover as you reminisced over all the time you spent reading the thing.

“I can’t really picture you as a librarian, I’ve seen the way you eat squirrels,” Daryl joked, his head tilted a little so he could look at you.

You smiled, “If you’d known me before, you wouldn’t think it so surprising, I practically breathed books.”

“When I think of librarians, I think of old, short, fat women with tiny, tiny glasses and ugly sweaters who always smell of grandmas,” he said humorously, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his description because it was so on point.

“I can’t believe you just said that…” you sputtered in between laughs.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he continued, “Except for you, of course. You must have been the _sexy librarian,”_ he joked, a faint smirk on his lips.

You blushed and turned away from him, “You’re an idiot,” you said, laughing still. “I was, for sure, the _quiet librarian_.”

“Nah,” he argued, hopping off the desk to stand in front of you, “I don’t believe that.”

You shook your head, trying to hide the redness in your cheeks, and slid off the top of the desk, too. You wandered back into the aisles and you heard Daryl follow you. You remembered the many times you would have to walk through aisles and aisles of books to put back the ones in your trolley. You didn’t mind that kind of work. It was quiet. And sometimes, you met eyes with a really cute guy who was studying for his next college mid-term.

“Where were you when it happened?” you suddenly asked him. Your fingers hovered over a book in the shelf before you slowly took it out to inspect the cover. It was a hardcover copy of _Macbeth_.

“Uh…” he touched a book at random, the sunlight outside suddenly dimming and creating odd shadows within the aisles, “Somewhere I didn’t want to be. What about you?”

You knew he’d give a vague answer. “At work. I was putting books away when the news came on about the first dozen cases of people going crazy in the streets, eating people. It… all happened so fast,” you said. You didn’t like to remember that day but most times, you couldn’t help but to. “I had a fight with my dad the night before and because I had to go to work, I didn’t see him in the morning. I think… I think I would have said sorry if I saw him. I didn’t see him again after that.”

Daryl swallowed and left the book alone, “What did you argue about?”

You put _Macbeth_ back into the shelf, “I was always angry. I didn’t know what I was doing, I’d dropped out of college… my parents would push me about work, saying I couldn’t work in the library and live with them for the rest of my life. I’d get _so_ pissed _so_ easily because I knew they were right and I hated that I didn’t know where I was going with my life but… it’s almost ironic… how much I worried about it because now, it doesn’t mean a damn thing. None of it.” You looked over at him, your eyes were wet, you knew, but you didn’t let yourself cry and instead blinked them away, “I used to worry about the stupidest things. If people liked me, if my friends liked me, if I was exercising enough, if I was eating healthy… now, all I worry about is if I’m breathing or not. If my friends are breathing or not… And if they’re not breathing, have they been stabbed in the head yet?”

Daryl nodded in a comforting, understanding sort of way. He sighed, “The world’s changed. All we can do is change with it, right?”

You nodded, “I guess so…”

He fidgeted with another book, a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ , and then finally spoke, “I killed my dad.”

It was a shock to hear but you weren’t one to judge, not anymore.

He nodded, “Yeah,” he grunted, and stared at the books in their cozy little shelves, protected from the world, protected by cloth-bound covers and wood and dust. He tapped his fingers against the shelving as he leant on it, staring at anything but you. “I was out of my mind after a night of…” he trailed off, not wanting to give the details, though you had a pretty good sense of what he meant. “…And I guess I’d been out of it while the world was goin’ to shit. I came home. Noticed it was more quiet than usual. Walked into the house and I saw my dad sitting in his chair, the TV still on, some kind of infomercial. Bottles of beer thrown about the place, soaked into the carpet. It was like, 5am.” He ran a nervous hand through his short hair and continued, “I thought he’d passed out after drinking too much so I go over to turn the TV off and the fucker tries to bite my arm.”

“He grabs me, I grab him. I’m staring into his big, ugly face, already rotten and smellin’ of shit. His cold fingers around my neck. I shove him off me and I try to talk to him, I don’t understand what the fuck is goin’ on, you know, and then he comes at me and I have my hunting knife. So, I stab him. And I stab him again. Once for me, once for Merle. Then I stab him again, for my mom, and again for the girl down the street, and again and again until I realize he isn’t fucking dying, ‘til I stab him right through the eye into his brain and he drops at my feet.”

“He was dead already, a walker, but… since then… something in me tells me I’d have eventually killed him anyway, already dead or not. It scared me so much that I packed my shit and left and found Merle and then we found Shane and the others… I never told Merle, I never told anyone.”

There was quiet for a moment. It was a lot to share. You reached over to him and grabbed his hand. You squeezed it comfortingly and told him with your eyes that it was going to be okay.

He nodded.

You pulled him into a hug, and you weren’t sure if he’d accept it or not. But he hugged you back and held you tightly.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Now._ **

Rick thought that you all weren’t too far away from Terminus. Apparently, it was only a day’s more travel down the tracks. You could tell everyone was nervous about it but maybe for different reasons. Would Terminus be safe? Would the others from the prison arrive there, too? Did anyone else even survive?

You couldn’t believe that so many people you’d known had died.

“You got something to sleep in, Daryl?” Rick asked as he lay out one of the sleeping bags. There were only two between Rick, Carl and Michonne, so two of them would have to share.

“No, not really…” Daryl replied, throwing away a rabbit bone.

“You can use mine,” Michonne said, standing up from the small circle you formed around a very small, very discreet fire. Practically embers. “I’ll take first watch.”

You shook your head, “I’ll take first watch.” It wasn’t like you didn’t trust Michonne, if Rick and Daryl trusted her, then you trusted her too. But you had your reasons for staying awake, like not being able to sleep.

“You should get some rest,” Rick advised, looking at you, “you’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“So have you,” you said, truthfully. “Besides, I don’t sleep anyway.” You ignored Daryl’s stare.

“Which is why you should try to. If you haven’t been sleeping at all then you’ll only slow us down or put us in danger,” Michonne said, frankly.

You stared at her. You understood her tactic. She didn’t mean it in a harsh way. She knew you’d only listen to a logical reason for not taking watch tonight. You sighed, “Alright.”

“Daryl should get some sleep too,” Rick suggested, “so wake me next when you want to sleep.”

“Then where will Michonne sleep if I’m in her sleeping bag?” Daryl asked. He assumed Carl would share his dad’s sleeping bag, which you assumed also, but Michonne seemed to think that Carl wanted to be anywhere else after what had happened with Joe and his gang.

“Just sleep in my sleeping bag,” you said, “neither of us are waking up tonight, right?”

Rick nodded.

Daryl nodded slowly, “Alright.”

You opened up your sleeping bag after carefully laying it out on the ground. When Joe and his group captured you, they took most of your food and water, but left you your sleeping bag and a couple of other things they didn’t want in your pack. When you escaped, you were lucky to even get your bow and quiver, let alone your backpack.

You shimmied yourself in after removing your boots, and Daryl squeezed himself in beside you as much as he could. The sleeping bag wouldn’t zip up of course, but at least you both had some kind of bed.

You removed your sweatshirt to test the temperature. It was usually cool in the night and being outside didn’t make it any warmer, but you’d noticed that the sleeping bag was extra thick and had a special insulation lining. And now, you were sharing it with an equally warm body.

You decided you would just retrieve your sweatshirt if it got any colder and just try sleeping in your tank top if it were even possible to fall asleep. You were about to settle down when you noticed everyone staring at you, awkwardly. Your eyes widened and you looked down at yourself, but no, you had a bra on, and nothing else seemed out of the ordinary.

“Did… they do that to you?” Daryl asked, referring to Joe, his rough fingers touching your scars on your arm closest to him. But it wasn’t just on one arm, they were on both arms. And there was one above your eyebrow, which Daryl had noticed immediately after reuniting with you.

You looked at his fingers as they traced your arm, “Some of them.”

Rick looked as if he wanted to know more, so did Daryl. Michonne only stared with sympathy and Carl was surprised to see so many of them etched into your skin.

Daryl felt his eyes sting with emotion. He knew things must have happened for you to appear so closed off, so distant, different yet the same as before… but he never would have realized that it would be this bad.

He should have protected you.

“This one…” he said, softly, but there was a quiet rage masked behind his words.

His finger touched it carefully as if it would hurt still. The back of your right shoulder, you knew which scar he was talking about. There was only one big enough and unique enough to want to know more about.

Your skin crawled with goosebumps as his touch lingered, and not in a good way. You shook him off politely and turned to lay down in your sleeping bag instead of answering him. You couldn’t give him that story, not yet… maybe, not ever.

It could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. You’d slept beside Daryl for a while before being separated, and although you’d both changed a lot since then it felt nostalgic and sentimental. Homey. A long-lost comfort that you had missed.

You were lying on your side and he faced your shoulder. You could feel him breathing as he was pressed against you.

“If I kick you in my sleep,” you whispered, “sorry.”

“If you kick me, I’ll just kick you back,” he said, amused. But Daryl couldn’t stop staring at the crudely cut letter _P_ in the middle of your shoulder blade.

***

**_Then._ **

There was an explosion of sound as walkers filled the Greene’s field. They came pouring in from all directions, all sides, and it seemed that the flow wasn’t about to slow down any time soon.

You’d never seen so many walkers all at once.

There were quick, panicked conversations on what to do next. Cars had to be put at the ready in case a quick getaway was needed. Lori couldn’t find her son. Rick and Shane were still out there looking for Randall.

You were in great doubts about taking on a giant horde of walkers like this and you noticed that Daryl was as well as he questioned Hershel’s stubbornness. But after hearing the man out, Daryl said, “Alright, it’s a good a night as any…” and grabbed his crossbow.

You grabbed your bow and followed Daryl without a word to his motorbike. The others separated themselves between the house and the cars. You hopped onto the back of Daryl’s bike and he sped off towards the barn that was now rapidly growing on fire.

Though you both had your arrows, it was more effective to use gunfire since it would draw the herd away from the barn, which Daryl suspected housed Rick and Shane. Besides, there was no point in wasting arrows in trying to be stealthy when there were hundreds of walkers already bombarding the farm.

Your thighs and knees touched Daryl’s waist and legs as you bent any which way to aim for the walkers. As Daryl fired, you fired in the opposite direction, trying to balance out the waves of walkers that approached. You weren’t sure how long this was going to work… or if it was even working at all. It just seemed as though they kept appearing out of nowhere, stumbling through the dark line of the woods. And then there were the walkers that shuffled around the barn on fire, like they walked straight out of hell.

You thought you were already living in a nightmare come true, but this was much, much worse.

“Hold on!” Daryl yelled over the gunfire and screeching of the dead.

You clenched your legs and grabbed onto his waist as he took off down the fence line. He reached the RV, where Jimmy was, and you heard Daryl say something about the barn and how if Rick and Shane were stuck there, they might need help.

Daryl took off again and the RV sped towards the barn. You could barely keep your grip on him as the bike stuttered over the grassy fields, all the lumps and bumps in the dirt. Your heart was beating fast inside your chest. You spotted the others back up at the house and you panicked.

“Daryl, let me off,” you said, quickly, eyes wide.

“What?” he grunted, fiercely. You always stuck together when things happened.

“Look,” you pointed to the house, “Hershel’s there… I can’t really see anyone else. They must be looking for Carl. They need help, the walkers are getting through!”

He slowed the bike down, “Y/N—”

You jumped off his bike and glanced at the cars that were driving up and down the line of the fence. They were holding off the other waves of walkers, for now, but who knew how long that would last.

“Wait—” Daryl yelled, grabbing your arm. He yanked you back to the bike and you turned your head to look at him. “No.” he said, firmly.

You frowned, “No?”

His eyes darted to the house and then back to you, “Don’t go.”

“They need my help,” you argued, and shook off his hand. “Look, if we get separated, there are cars. I’ll jump into one and we’ll meet up. Okay? I have to go.”

He took one last look at you and nodded, “Don’t die,” he said, although usually said in humor, now it was said in honest and vulnerable fear.

“You too,” you breathed and then turned towards the farm. You heard Daryl’s bike grumble as he took off again and you didn’t look back.

You reached the house in a few minutes, taking out walkers on your way. You were getting low in ammo as you noticed how light your pockets were. You reached the porch and turned towards the field, shooting any walker approaching. Hershel’s shotgun fired loudly beside you. You could hear panicked cries from Lori as she looked out towards the field for Carl.

It really was a nightmare come true.

Carol desperately pulled at Lori, trying to persuade her to get ready to go. You kept shooting. Your heart was thumping so loudly, you could barely hear anything else. Hershel’s gun was blocking out the rest.

Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire. Aim. Fire, Fire, Fire—

“Hershel, Y/N, we gotta _go now_!”

You didn’t know who had said it, but you realized people were yelling at you. You stumbled back from the front of the house towards them, suddenly out of your panicked daze. You looked at Lori in confusion. She tried to pull at you, but you couldn’t snap out of it. It was like this wasn’t real, none of it. How could it be?

Suddenly Patricia was screaming. You turned around to see Beth screaming too. A walker had latched itself onto Patricia and was feeding on the muscles in her neck, blood spurted out and oozed down the front of Patricia’s shirt. It was too late for her. Other walkers came and tore at her flesh.

You shot a couple of them and watched them fall at her feet but there were just so many, too many, that it wouldn’t matter.

You got knocked over as you turned back towards the cars. A walker tried biting your neck, just like Patricia’s and you kicked it off you before shooting it in the head. Blood splattered over your neck and shirt. Another came at you and another. You were trapped right in the middle of a wave.

Shouts were echoing from all around you. Cars were starting up and tires were squealing, kicking up dirt. Walkers were screeching in hunger, reaching their fingers out towards you. You heard the low grumble of Daryl’s bike off in the distance, only growing quieter.

You ran towards the line of trees, pushing walkers out of your way as they came. You spotted a flash of golden hair disappearing into the trees. There was no time to waste on killing them. You just had to run.

Practically blind, you stumbled through the thick trees and swampy mud. Falling over fallen branches and loose roots. Running into thick shrubbery. You jumped and ran faster at every sound, every echo. And you didn’t stop.

You just ran.


	5. Chapter 5

**_Now._ **

You sat up in your sleeping bag, startled, yelling, your hands reaching out for a tree. But the tree wasn’t there anymore. You were breathless and your mouth was dry, but not from running from walkers, just from a nightmare.

You were sweating all over and your chest was heaving in more and more oxygen.

In your hand, was a knife.

“Hey,” Daryl said, calmly. He was sitting beside you, already up and awake, probably because of your frantic sleep talking and yelling. He gripped your hand that held the knife, the one you kept near you at all times, and he opened your hand and took it from you, slowly and cautiously. “It’s alright. You’re safe,” he reassured.

Rick was looking over at you both, not out of judgment and irritation, but concern. It must be the last half of the night as he was on watch, and Michonne and Carl were both sound asleep.

You tried breathing in deeply, but the sounds of the walkers were still fresh in your mind. Their cold fingers touching your skin, grabbing your shirt, looking for soft, warm flesh to bite into—

“I’m going for a walk,” you barely choked out. You quickly slipped out of the sleeping bag despite the look you got from Daryl. You picked up your knife again and walked off into the darkness and cover of the trees.

It was chilly and you forgot your jacket, but the cool air felt good on your sweaty skin. You swallowed, trying to moisten your dry throat.

Daryl quickly fell in-step beside you. He didn’t say anything. It wasn’t like him to confront you all too quickly, he wanted you to share on your own terms.

“What?” you said, stopping. You could hardly see his eyes.

“You shouldn’t go walking in the dark by yourself.”

“I’m used to it,” you said sharply and felt instantly guilty once you caught the look in his eyes. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said…”

You shook your head, “Don’t be…” you sighed. You thought about walking, but Daryl was right. Even if you had been walking the woods at night for so long now by yourself, it didn’t make it any safer, considering the shit you’ve gone through since you last saw him.

“What’d you dream about?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You could hear a few birds sing in response, it must’ve been close to dawn. You swallowed. “It was of that night, with the herd on the farm…” you laughed, drily, “I don’t know why I freaked out so bad, that’s hardly the worst thing that’s happened to me.”

He looked at you curiously, and then, “I’m sorry,” he said, swallowing his emotions. “About that night…”

“You don’t have to be. It was one big, giant mess.”

“But I—”

“No,” you said, interrupting him. You couldn’t think about it anymore. You’d spent months and months thinking about that night and you couldn’t let yourself do that anymore. “I can’t… I can’t. Let’s just go back to sleep.” Though, you knew you probably wouldn’t get any.

***

**_Then._ **

It’d been weeks since the herd. You’d been stumbling around, scavenging where you could. Until you found a hidden little clearing amongst the thick trees. You set up camp, making sure to keep your fires low and your water supply high.

You tried looking for the others. The first thing you did was go to the highway, but you were on foot, and if they’d ever made it there, they were long gone by the time you came around.

So, you had to do things on your own. You weren’t afraid. You’d done it before. But the comforts of people and friendships… it was harder to get over it after getting used to it. Most days, you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, but you knew that acting defeated would only assure your defeat, so you kept moving, kept breathing, kept going.

You tried your tracking techniques, the ones Daryl taught you, but everything was so messed up from the herd of walkers, from other survivors. Daryl once told you that if you ever got split up, like this, he would mark a way for you to follow. Bits of his shirt. Anything that you’d recognize, to create a path directly to him.

You thought you saw a piece of his flannel shirt wrapped around a tree branch but by then… by then you’d lost hope. By then, you were set on being alone.

But it wasn’t always like that. You weren’t always alone.

One night, a boy entered your camp without a word. You were going to shoot an arrow right through his head but then he spotted you, sitting up in one of the trees above your small campfire, and you couldn’t do it.

He wasn’t a boy; he was probably nineteen or twenty years old. He had a mess of golden hair on his head and big blue eyes, and smooth skin underneath the dirt and dried blood. He didn’t say anything, he just stared.

You got down from your tree and kept your aim at him, out of caution, but then you settled in front of your fire, wrapped up in an old blanket you had found, and stared at the small flames.

He sat down too. He pulled out a can of beans and opened them. He offered the can to you, but you just shook your head, you already ate, and so he dug into the cold, slimy beans without another word.

There was only the crackle and pop of the small fire for a little while, until he finally opened his mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asked, scooping up another mouthful.

You stared at him but didn’t say anything else.

“Okay, fine. But I won’t tell you mine until you tell me yours.”

You didn’t care. Names didn’t matter anymore. People didn’t matter anymore. Getting through the day mattered and caring about anything else got you dead.

“How old are you?” he asked, after a little more time had passed since his first question. He was just about done with his beans and was busy scooping out the sides of the can with his fingers; he must have been awfully hungry.

“I was 22 when this whole thing started,” you said, “but… I don’t know… I don’t know how much time has passed since.”

He nodded, “Neither do I. I think I’m still 21.”

So, you were a year or two off, but it was a pretty good guess.

You noticed how he glanced down at the bar of chocolate sticking out of the top of your backpack. He wasn’t half-obvious. The poor guy must only have what was on his back. You tossed the bar to him and he caught it, his eyes a little wide. He looked at you.

You didn’t say anything.

He looked at the chocolate bar in his fingers, he rolled it around a little as if in contemplation. Then, he looked back up to you, his eyes big and sad, he said, “I’m sorry.”

And everything went black.

***

You were dizzy when you finally came to. It must have been a pretty hard whack to the back of your head because you didn’t remember it happening. You tried to blink but even that hurt your eyes. You probably had a concussion.

You looked up. The fire had grown, big, orange flames licked up at the night air and the wood popped louder than before. It hurt your brain a little but soon your eyesight became clearer.

You saw three people. The boy from before, with big blue eyes. A girl, who had long blond hair. The kind that made people jealous. And then a guy who looked starkly different from the pair of them. A little older. A lot uglier.

“Oh, she’s awake…” he said, and bent down to look you in the eyes, “‘Bout time you woke up!”

“Shh,” the boy urged, rushing a finger to his lips. His eyes darted around, probably on the hunt for walkers.

“ _Shh_ ,” the ugly guy mimicked and then laughed loudly. He picked up your bow and pretended to aim and shoot with it, as if this was all some kind of game to him. “We hit the jackpot with this one, nice going,” he said, enthused.

The boy nodded and avoided looking at you.

“When are we going to open the wine?” the girl cried, holding up the bottle of red wine you found on accident during one of your scavenges. You winced. You were saving it for… a night when you didn’t care if you lived or died. Or for when you saw Daryl again. You always joked about how you would make him taste the stuff, since he was so adamant on drinking moonshine or whiskey.

_Wine was for prissies_ , he always said. _Not the good stuff_ , you argued.

But that was in the past.

“We’ll open it now!” the guy cried and grabbed the bottle from the girl and opened it in a rush. He took a long swig straight from the bottle and smacked his lips after swallowing. He passed it to her, and she did the same. The boy seemed disinterested in the alcohol.

“Drop the wine,” you growled.

The guy looked over at you, suddenly remembering your existence, as if he had forgotten that he clobbered you over the head and tied you up with rope, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

The girl looked from him to you, “I don’t like her, Calvin. You gonna do somethin’ about it?”

Calvin looked at the girl and then at you, he ran a hand through his greasy, dark hair and said, “Who the fuck do you think you are, telling _me_ what to do? You’re the bitch who’s tied up!” He pulled out a big hunting knife from the back of his jean pockets and held it up in the dim light of the fire.

You swallowed.

He pressed it up against your cheek, “Talk to me like that again and maybe I’ll just cut you a big, pretty scar?”

“Fuck you,” you spat. Maybe you didn’t care. Maybe it had been a long time since you cared and you needed this, but this wasn’t the time for self-analyzing.

He shook his head, a massive smile stretched his lips thin,” Wrong answer,” he slashed the knife upwards, quickly, and you felt it tear at the skin above your eyebrow. You felt the blood run down your face, droplets of blood splattered your cheek and the dirt in front of you.

You bit down, hard, to keep the pain in.

He stuck his knife into your arm, deeper than the thin cut above your eyebrow, and you yelled out.

“See? That’s what happens when you mess with Calvin,” he pulled the knife out and cut you a third time along the collarbone, slow and careful. It stung but it wasn’t as painful as the second wound.

“Stop…” the boy said, quiet, his wide eyes horrified.

Calvin rolled his dark brown eyes and stood up straight so he could look the boy in the eye, “Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Stop being such a pussy!” He sheathed his knife into his belt and trudged away for a moment as he tossed cans of food and other supplies out of their shelves and bags where you kept them.

The girl slumped by the fire with the wine bottle in hand, she looked at you.

Calvin walked back after finding what he wanted, a bag of Doritos, and began snacking on them the instant he ripped the bag open. “God, I love these…” he muttered, pacing in front of the fire.

His stalking movements against the flames cast odd shadows across the distant trees and the dirt. You watched the moving shadowy shapes as he paced back and forth. You weren’t crying anymore but the wounds hurt like a bitch on a fire. And you knew, you’d have to do something soon, or you might lose too much blood. It wasn’t life or death yet, but you would need stitches in your arm.

Calvin suddenly snatched the bottle of wine from the girl’s hands and came over to you. He crouched in front of you, so his face was close to yours. He stank like shit; it was probably forever since he last washed. You hadn’t had a proper shower for months but at least you tried to wash yourself every now and then in nearby waterbeds.

He held up the bottle in front of your face with a nasty smile. Then, he shoved the open part of it into your mouth and forced you to take a mouthful. You almost choked on the damn thing and when he pulled the bottle away, you spat all of the wine out onto him. You wouldn’t drink it, not without Daryl.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he yelled, gripping his knife, but not taking any more swings at you. He aggressively wiped some of the wine and saliva off his face with his dirty, torn shirt, “You know, if you weren’t so pretty, I’d have kicked all your teeth in by now.”

You felt bile crawling up your throat.

“What the hell, Cal? You think this rat is prettier than me?” the girl yelled, obviously having had too much wine.

Calvin laughed loudly and cupped your face, planting a big, unwanted kiss right on your mouth and the girl got up from her seat and jumped at him. The two of them stumbled back a little, yelling profanities at each other. You wondered how many times this girl let her feelings get hurt by such a scumbag. You spat, wanting to forget about the wet kiss he gave you, and forced yourself not to throw up.

“You know I can’t help myself when I see pretty women!” he yelled, “Besides, Calvin does what Calvin wants, remember? It’s the end of the world, who the hell says I can’t have more than one woman.”

Your eyes widened at that comment and you caught eyes with the boy, who stood far away from you and the other two. He only blinked back.

_He wouldn’t get far_ , you thought, and you were right, since he was tagging along with this disgusting bastard.

“You’re not touching me,” you threatened with a low voice.

This caught Calvin’s attention. He turned from the girl, who stopped talking mid-sentence when you opened your mouth, and he stared at you. He walked closer to you, “Really?” he challenged, dropping the bottle of wine into the dirt. Whatever was left inside slowly dribbled out and soaked the ground. He crouched in front of you again and stared into your eyes. You could feel the flames behind him growing hotter and hotter. Only the wisps of his hair lit up with the light; his face was dark. “Calvin does what Calvin wants…” he repeated, slower than before, and reached out to your shoulder. He pushed down your shirt so that the skin was exposed. His thumb glided over your shoulder in slow circles. He laughed a little and licked his lips.

The girl came at him again and shoved him over. He was on his hands and knees in the dirt and a dark shade of red exploded on his face. He jumped up and swung at the girl, his fist cracking her cheek. The boy opened his mouth, a small yelp echoed out, but he didn’t move from his spot. He watched as the girl took a beating from a guy who wasn’t even twice his height or weight.

_Pathetic._

Enough was enough. You sliced the ropes that bound you, with the knife that you kept strapped to your torso, underneath your shirt, as a safeguard for times when your hands were preoccupied. You stood up, quickly, grabbed Calvin before he could pummel into the girl’s face with his fist again, and stabbed him right through the base of his skull.

It was quick and painless. He dropped dead and he wouldn’t come back as a walker.

The girl stared at you, her eyes were wet with horrified tears and her left cheek was beginning to swell. But she didn’t move, didn’t even breathe.

You looked at her a moment. She was innocent, as much of a whiny coward as she was. So was the boy. You wiped the blood that oozed out of the cut above your eyebrow and it smeared over your forehead and the back of your hand.

You turned from the body and picked up your things. You slung your bow and quiver over your shoulder where they belonged, and you were reminded that you’d need stitches soon. You rummaged through the tossed supplies and found what you needed, plus a little extra, and grabbed your backpack. Then you picked up the bucket that was filled with unfiltered water and tipped it over the fire, putting it out. It was suddenly a lot darker, which in some ways, was better for you, so you didn’t have to keep staring at their shocked faces. The wet wood hissed with steam and you stood there a moment, thanking the place for giving you security for when it did, but now it was time to move on.

You made sure you had everything you could possibly need and then you set out through the trees. Walking through the dark was dangerous and you wouldn’t have dared to do it before. But it’d been a long time since the farm and things had changed. You embraced the darkness of the woods and the cover it gave you.

But twigs and leaves snapped and crunched a little bit behind you. Two pairs of feet. You stopped. They stopped. You sighed.

You guess you expected they would follow.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Now._ **

Terminus was a bust. You weren’t surprised. 

You already felt the panic creeping up as you, Daryl, Rick, Michonne and Carl were all ordered into one of those storage containers, after being almost gunned down by rooftop shooters. You could see the darkness that lay ahead. You could feel yourself slipping. You didn’t expect this reaction, though, it had been a long time since you were forced into somewhere dark and confined against your will.

You trembled as you entered the container. Your breath became short, quick gulps, and your heart picked up speed. You were trapped in darkness… once again.

“Y/N,” Daryl whispered, frowning, as the storage container door was slammed shut behind him. “You alright?”

You were far from alright but how could you keep yourself from losing it? It’d been too long since a panic attack like this. You felt as if you would drop dead any second. You shook your head at Daryl, in some sort of response to his question, but it didn’t solve the issue at hand.

There were voices at the other end of the container. It was dark inside and you couldn’t adjust your eyesight just yet as it had only been seconds since entering, and because you were too busy trying to keep yourself from freaking the fuck out.

“Y/N?” Glenn asked from the other side of the container, after he greeted the other familiar faces that he hadn’t seen since the attack on the prison. He was staring at you, as if you were a ghost, and maybe, in some ways, you were.

You were bent over as if you’d just ran a marathon. He was surprised to see you but all too quickly, he noticed you struggling, and so did everyone else.

“What’s wrong?” Rick asked quickly and you felt Daryl’s hand on your shoulder. They knew it wasn’t because of what just happened, they knew it had to be something more. The scars on your body already indicated that you’d been through something much, much worse. 

You shook Daryl’s hand off you and backed up against the wall behind you. You shook your head again; it was all you could manage. It was like words just didn’t exist inside your brain anymore. Your tongue felt too dry, too big. Your throat was struggling to let in any oxygen.

“Daryl?” Rick asked him, out of reassurance. He knew Daryl understood you more than anyone else. But Daryl only shook his head, clearly unsure of what was causing this panic, and it made Rick instantly anxious.

You sank to the floor, knees pulled up to your chest. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt that your cheeks were wet.

“Great, now we got a crazy inside with us,” a man said, whom you didn’t recognize. You didn’t see his face either, you were too busy shutting your eyes tight.

“Shut up,” Daryl growled, and then took a step towards you. You could tell by the sound of his shoes. He put his hands on your shoulders—

***

**_Then._ **

You stared at him and his group of people as they approached your camp. The girl and the boy were in tow. You felt your heart drop.

“Isn’t this homey?” the man said in amusement, followed by a humorous chuckle. He glanced over at your tents and lack of defenses. He was a tall man, middle-aged, and dressed neatly. Too neatly. _He must have it good,_ you thought, and felt your nerves spike. “No wonder you stole from us,” his chilling, blue eyes caught yours. And he was furious.

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, frowning in an attempt to keep yourself from trembling. Deep down inside, you knew. You knew what the boy and girl had been doing but you didn’t bother to bring it up. You never bothered because what they did led to well-fed stomachs and restful nights. But now, it seemed, you would pay the price for your ignorance.

He held his head high, as if superior to everyone, “Oh, you know, uh-huh,” he said, his voice a heavy Georgian accent. “Your people,” he gestured to the girl and the boy, whose names you still hadn’t bothered to know, “stole from my group.”

“I didn’t know,” you urged, fighting back the deep fear you felt in the pit of your stomach. You wouldn’t stand a chance against him, not with five men at his back, and who knows how many more were back home.

He tilted his head a little, and he smiled, just a small one. He knew better. “I don’t think that’s true,” he argued, and he gestured with his hand towards the girl and the boy. A couple of his men came out from behind him and shoved the girl and boy towards you, causing them to stumble to their knees. Their eyes were wide. Their faces were dirty; tear stained. Their hands were bound behind their backs. You couldn’t look away. 

You knew you would remember this moment for the rest of your life.

“I don’t like thieves and I don’t like liars,” he stated, still addressing you. “Neither of those kinds belong in my group. And as far as I can see, you don’t have much in repayment for what you took from me,” he concluded, his eyes set firmly on yours. “Except… maybe for a few things…”

You shook your head desperately, “Just take what you want. Take it all. We have things left. Just take it and I’ll find you more—”

“No,” he interrupted your anxious babble, his eyes narrowed, “No. I think I have better use for you.”

You swallowed.

“Besides,” he started, laughing cruelly, “you think I would just take what’s left of _my_ supplies and that would solve your debt?” He scoffed, and he looked to his crew who shared a few quiet chuckles. He found your eyes again, his face dead pan, “Wrong.” 

He took a confident step closer to you, “I will take back my stuff anyway because it already belongs to me, and whatever else you have stashed away here. And I will kill your friends—” he signaled with his hand and one of his men shot both the girl and then the boy through the head, in quick two seconds. Their empty bodies lay at the man’s feet, their bloodied faces in the dirt.

You threw up, right there and right then. You couldn’t help it. The built-up anxiety, the sudden deaths… They weren’t your friends, you didn’t even know their names, but they didn’t deserve to be shot like that. They didn’t deserve to die.

You tried to stand up straight again, but it was too hard. You practically vomited out whatever was left in your stomach, which wasn’t much to begin with. And you still felt incredibly queasy. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and swallowed, the vile taste of stomach acid lingered in your mouth. You eyed the man with a deep hatred in your eyes.

“And,” he continued, and he spoke in pure greed and vengeance, “I will take you with me.”


	7. Chapter 7

**_Now._ **

You shoved Daryl off you as soon as his hands touched your shoulders. You weren’t making any rational sense anymore because your reality made no sense. You could see _him_ in the corner of the container. You could _smell_ him, as if he were right next to you, his breath in your ear.

“No, _please—_ ” you hid as you buried your face into your knees, hugging your legs.

“What the hell is the matter with her?” a woman said, a voice you didn’t know, but it was quick and concerned.

“Daryl?” Rick asked again, unsure what to do.

You could hear their feet moving around you, their echo. It only brought you back to that place. With him, that man.

“She’s lost it,” another voice concluded, another one you didn’t recognize. All these unfamiliar voices. Where were you really? Could you still be back there?

“No, no, no, no,” you rambled, slapping your hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut tight, you’d just have to block it out. All of it. Then you wouldn’t see him anymore—

Daryl lifted your face which forced your eyes open, and you stared straight into his worried pair. He was saying something, maybe it was your name, you could kind of tell by the shapes his mouth was making but you couldn’t focus. You couldn’t focus on Daryl because of the shadowy man that moved closer and closer towards you…

You screamed, shoving Daryl, who fought back as he tried to grab ahold of your arms to stop them from flailing. There were shouts of concern, Rick tried to help Daryl keep you from knocking him or yourself out.

“No, don’t let him near me! _Please!_ ” you screamed, writhing, trying to twist out of Daryl’s strong grip on your arms and shoulders. “I don’t wanna go back,” you whined, like a frightened animal, you bashed the back of your head against the wall behind you, “please don’t make me go back, please, please, I can’t go back there!”

Someone was saying your name over and over again, but it only sounded like _he_ was calling out for you with that low, slow voice of his, the accent drawled and his eyes hungry. You stared at _him_ as he approached you. You were whimpering now, having given up on fighting Daryl any longer. You’d just have to accept defeat at this point. If _he_ were here to take you back, then…

 _He_ stepped out of the shadows, his face in the line of light that managed to squeeze through a rusty crack in the top of the storage container. You saw his icy blue eyes. He was here, the Governor was here, and he would surely kill you this time.

Daryl couldn’t understand what was happening, but he tried his best to keep you from hurting yourself. As he held onto your arms, pressing them to your chest, keeping you against the wall behind your back, you started to stop twisting and moving around so much but there was a clear whimper, and he didn’t like it. You were afraid. Terrified, and there wasn’t anything he could do to help you.

What the hell had happened to you before you were reunited? This panic, this clear damage; he couldn’t fix it and it broke his heart. 

Suddenly, you passed out. Your eyes rolled back, and you went completely limp. He took your wrist into his hands immediately and checked for a sign of a pulse, it was there, and he could see your chest steadily rising and falling. He leaned back away from you, still crouched on his heels, staring at you.

“What…” Rick started, shaking his head.

Daryl couldn’t give him an answer. He looked up at Rick, who looked back at him, and Daryl did his best to swallow his emotion.

“Looks to me like she experienced a fully-fledged, head-rolling panic attack,” said a man with dark hair, cut into a mullet. His face was shiny with sweat and his eyes were beady, but what he said had made some kind of sense to Daryl.

“I’m assuming she’s not always like this?” the red-haired man said from across the container. He had a big moustache that curved around his mouth.

Daryl forgave the moustache guy for saying you were crazy, because in all honesty, it kinda seemed that way from an outsider’s perspective. Daryl shook his head, “She’s not always like this.”

“Did something happen?” Maggie asked, her hand tight around Glenn’s arm. “I mean… we haven’t seen her since the farm. Anything could’ve happened. How did you find her?”

“She found us,” Rick answered, wiping the sweat off his forehead. He staggered back from your limp body a little, still glancing at your face in concern.

“She was… captured by these guys we met on the way here. We took ‘em out,” Daryl said and shrugged, “But… I think there’s more to it than just that.”

“You don’t know where she’s been this whole time, since we got separated?” Glenn asked.

Daryl shook his head, “She didn’t really wanna talk 'bout it.”

“Well, we gotta do something, we can’t lug her out of here on one of our backs,” the red-haired man argued, “ _if_ we get the hell outta this damn container.”

“I’ll figure out a way,” Daryl concluded, and sat down beside you, leaning his back against the same wall. He would wait. He would not leave you here. He’d never leave you ever again.

Suddenly, the top of the container was pulled open and something was dropped inside. Daryl stood up quickly and lifted his arms in defense, standing close to you, but when he started feeling woozy… he noticed the gas that rose from some kind of capsule that was tossed inside. His muscles grew weak and his mind foggy. He fell to his knees and looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and he dropped to the floor.

***

When you came to, everyone was talking in quick, rushed sentences. It took you a minute to remember where you were. You swallowed; your mouth was dry. You took in a few deep breaths and tried to forget about the freak out you just experienced; that everyone else had to witness.

You blinked and scanned the faces for Daryl. When you couldn’t see him, your heart started to beat faster, “Daryl?”

Maggie looked over at you, then she glanced to the others. She moved closer to you, slow and careful. “Y/N, you’re awake.”

“Where’s Daryl?” you asked her, panicked. You started to get up, but your legs felt weak. You couldn’t get to your feet just yet. You glanced over the remaining faces, “Rick? Glenn?”

“They took them,” the red-haired man said, “The people out there. Chucked some kind of gas capsule inside and knocked us all out so they could choose which one of us to take without having to fight.”

You stared up at him in confusion, “What are they going to do to them?”

He didn’t answer.

“No,” you said, and got to your feet, though shakily. You stumbled towards the container door and hammered your fists against the metal. “You fuckers!”

“Y/N,” Maggie suddenly said, she reached out for your hands to stop them from punching the metal, “They’ll get out.”

You were breathing fast, your chest heaving up and down, “How do you know?”

“They will,” Carl confirmed quietly. “My Dad will get them out of there and then they’ll come back for us. And we’ll get out of here.”

You stared at the boy. The boy who was on his way to becoming a man. You remembered him, at the farm, just a small thing, innocent, but always willing to help. Wanting to be just like the adults. How much time had really passed?

“Okay,” you said. “Alright…” you backed away from the door and tried to calm your anxiety. Maybe they were right. Maybe…

A sudden explosion sounded. It rumbled the ground and you almost fell over, if not for the wall you leaned against. The ground shook for only a moment, but it was over quickly. You caught eyes with Maggie.

“What…?” you started, unsure what to even ask.

The others grew agitated. You heard the names of the people you didn’t know yet. Sasha, who was worried about somebody called Bob; there must have been a fourth person taken. Then there was Abraham the red head, Rosita, Tara, and Eugene. You knew everyone else.

“I’m not dying in a fucking container,” Abraham growled.

“We’re not gonna die,” Maggie reassured, holding onto the watch that Hershel gave Glenn back at the farm.

“We’ll get out,” you said, and Maggie looked at you gratefully. “We’ll get out,” you repeated, more so for yourself. You had to get out. You wouldn’t let yourself die in here after everything. You wouldn’t let yourself die now after only just finding Daryl again.

You heard quick footsteps amongst the shuffle of the dead. Their groans were becoming louder. You tried to peer through the sporadic holes in the metal, the tiny gaps, but you couldn’t spot anyone other than the walkers that surrounded you all.

There were echoes of gunfire. You assumed it was Terminus defending themselves from the wave of walkers that got through their gates. The explosion must have had something to do with it… but if that were Rick and the others, then where were they?

Everyone was busying themselves with sharpening their makeshift weapons of sticks and there was some kind of argument about a cure, but you were too focused on getting the hell out to pay any attention to the details.

“Wait!” Michonne said, who was also peering through, “I see them.”

The door to the storage container was pulled open and the first face you saw was Rick’s. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at everyone inside, making sure you were all okay. But it was quick as he lifted his gun and started shooting at the dead, “We gotta go, _now_ ,” he said.

You spotted Daryl behind him, defending himself from a walker. You were one of the first ones to rush out of the container. You landed on your feet and reached for a knife that you kept strapped to your torso. You had needed it once and you needed it again now, so it was a secret defense you’d never part with.

You grabbed a walker by its head and swiftly stabbed it through its decomposed skull and it dropped to your feet. You glanced at Daryl and he stared back. A moment of uncertainty passed, and he nodded at you. He must’ve still been shaken from your outburst before, and you didn’t blame him.

He was suddenly relieved to see you alright, and after almost getting his throat cut open and bled like an animal in a slaughterhouse, he felt emotional all over again. He unexpectedly pulled you close to him, a short embrace, and pressed his lips to the top of your forehead. Shouts from the others suddenly echoed through all the noise and mess from the walkers and distant gunfire, and you broke eye contact and fled towards the fence.

You kept pace with Daryl all the way, stabbing walkers that came too close to the pair of you. It suddenly reminded you of old times, having each other’s backs.

Everyone made it to the fence safely and quickly rolled over the top of it. Walkers were following closely behind but it would be easy to outsmart them and protect yourselves in a group like this.

You walked a little way through the trees. You kept an eye out around you and the group. You weren’t certain if all of this was over yet. Daryl pointed to a spot in the dirt and Rick started digging, and you suddenly remembered the bag of ammunition and guns that he’d buried before you entered Terminus.

Rick was busy explaining how everyone would work together to take the rest of the Terminus guys out while some argued against it. You peered over to the smoky, fiery “sanctuary for all” and swallowed. It could be a waste of ammo. But certainty of their death would only bring peace of mind and no future attacks on your group. And you’d love to get your bow back.

“We’re going to kill all of them, every single one,” Rick stated. “It’s not over until they’re all dead.”

You thought about the Governor. You shook your head. You took a few steps away from the group, and they hardly noticed since they were busy on convincing Rick to get the hell away from Terminus, to somewhere safe. You breathed in and out, slowly, trying to forget his face. Killing the people that hurt you… it was the only way to assure your protection, your friend’s protection. That’s what the Governor taught you.

You wished you had killed that bastard when you had the chance. If he was still out there somewhere…

“Rick’s right,” you said, staring out into the trees. You didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, but you knew they were looking at you because you could feel their stares. “It’s not over until they’re dead.” You glanced at Rick who nodded a little, but Daryl only looked at you sadly.

A sound distracted you all from arguing further and someone appeared. You blinked. You couldn’t believe your eyes. Carol shrugged off her blood-splattered poncho and smiled.

Daryl ran to her straight away and swept her up into a hug. You smiled and felt tears prick at the edges of your eyes at seeing a friendly face. Everyone moved toward Carol and Daryl, eager to greet her. You hung back behind the others, and Rosita, Eugene, Tara and Abraham stood behind you, eyeing the stranger.

You looked at her as she greeted the others first. You couldn’t help the smile on your face. Carol passed Daryl’s crossbow back to him and he looked as happy as ever, like an arm that had been lost was returned to him.

“Daryl,” she breathed, almost excitedly, almost anxiously. She procured a second weapon from her shoulder, along with the quiver that belonged to it. It was your bow. Unmistakably yours, ever since you tied the rabbit’s foot, from your first successful snare, around it.

Daryl smiled and pointed to you. Her eyes fell on yours and she smiled wide, tears wet her eyes. She pulled you into a hug, “Y/N?” she questioned, unable to believe you were really standing in front of her. She passed you your bow and quiver, “I saw these inside and I… I just knew…”

“It’s good to see you,” you said, swallowing back your tears.

She nodded slowly, wiping her eyes, and looked to Rick, “Rick, you have to come with me.”

***

Carol led the group to a small shack. A man who wore a dark beanie was waiting for them, a baby in his hands. You stopped walking.

From the reaction of Rick and Carl, you guessed it was the baby Lori was expecting. They hadn’t told you she’d given birth before she died. You watched with an overwhelming sense of joy, a feeling you hadn’t felt in so long, and you couldn’t hold back the tears this time.

You felt someone touch your shoulder and you quickly wiped your eyes with your sleeve. You turned to see Daryl. He looked at you with that look. You shook your head as the tears came again and leaned into him as he hugged you. You were exhausted and the tears couldn’t be controlled any longer. He stroked your hair and held you close. He wasn’t sure what you saw in that storage container, but he knew you must have been through a lot, of course. Those scars. Your fear of being trapped. He sighed, and kissed your head, in time, maybe you’d tell him.

***

Thanks to the group that went out earlier, dinner was plentiful and inside a safe, warm church. After the group helped Father Gabriel, a lonely priest who got stuck in the middle of a group of walkers, he had led them to his church which seemed the best option for now. It was a roof over your head, and the food bank they scavenged from provided enough food for days.

You sat on the church floor, a little bit away from the others but not far. You were busy eating when Daryl sat down next to you. He was onto his second helping.

“There’s wine, y’know,” he said.

You smiled a little, but the memory of wanting to share a glass of wine with Daryl was ruined by the guy, Calvin, who’d opened your bottle and forced you to take a mouthful from it. You shrugged, “Maybe another time.”

He nodded, “You got enough?” he gestured to your plate.

You nodded.

You two ate in silence for a moment, listening to the quiet chatter between the others. Mostly, it was about stupid shit. But the good kind. Jokes. Laughter. You hadn’t felt this way in such a long time. Not since the farm.

“You ever gonna tell me what happened to you?” he asked in a rush, as if he had been hesitating to ask. He looked at you, finishing his mouthful, expecting an answer.

You looked at your plate.

“Because what happened back at Terminus… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to help you. I wanted to—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said, interrupting him, and you looked at him. “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t need your help.”

“Y/N—”

“Just leave it, alright?”

He kept his eyes on you. He just wanted to help you. But he wasn’t one to push you, he wouldn’t do that to you, not after all the patience you’d had with him before. “Alright.”

You went back to eating your dinner. Eventually, Daryl got up and left somewhere with Carol. You finished your plate after Abraham made his speech about going to D.C. You didn’t really care where you ended up, as long as you were with Daryl. He was the only person you wanted to be around. You didn’t really understand it, maybe one day you would, but he was a comfort to you, a protector, and you worked well together. You had a connection and you didn’t want it severed, not again.

You stacked your plate up with the others.

“Hey,” a voice said softly, and you looked up at Glenn who stood near you. He put his plate on yours, “You going okay?”

You nodded.

He understood your silence. “I didn’t even get to say a proper hello,” he said, smiling a little. “It’s good to see you. I… I wasn’t sure if you…” he swallowed, “I’m just happy you’re here.”

You smiled, “Thanks, Glenn. It’s good to see you, all of you, too. There was a time when I thought I wouldn’t ever see any of you again…”

He nodded, touched your shoulder, “We won’t let it happen again.”

You nodded. You passed the table and headed towards one of the pews near the back of the church. You were dog tired and you weren’t sure what Carol and Daryl were doing, but you knew they’d protect each other if anything bad happened while they were out.

You closed your eyes once you were laying down. It was uncomfortable. But it was dark enough since there were only tiny flames of the candles to light the church. You soon fell asleep to the quiet chatter.

***

**_Then._ **

You woke up in a dark room. It was practically empty, except for you. The walls were concrete, and the roof was flat. You could have been underground. You couldn’t see any signs of light… but you couldn’t tell whether it was night or day.

You were strapped to a chair. You felt weak. You pulled at your restraints but there was hardly any use, they were metal cuffs and chains and you hadn’t any strength left in you at all.

You whimpered at the thought of what they might do to you. They were obviously keeping you here for a reason. If not for some sort of sick entertainment… then what? Did he feel satisfaction in keeping you locked up for what they stole from him?

You remembered the man’s face. The trigger. The vomit. His words, _I have better use for you._

Your mouth was suddenly dry.

There were footsteps echoing down the corridor, it sounded like, and it approached your room. The lock clicked and the door swung open and in came the same man. He walked inside and looked smugly at you. His coat was off and instead, he wore a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up at the elbows. He smirked.

“I thought you might be hungry,” he said, as if he was doing you a favor by bringing you your food tray while keeping you locked up. You glared at him.

“I think I’m gonna have to teach you some manners,” he continued when he saw your stare, a little amused. He put the tray down on a table you hadn’t noticed. It was off to the side, pushed into a dark corner of the room. He dragged the table along the concrete floor and the sound of the table-legs scraping against the floor bounced off the walls in loud waves. He placed the table directly in front of you and you looked longingly at the food. Potato, mashed. Beans. Some kind of stewed meat.

“A hearty meal, I thought, uh-huh,” he commented. But the table was far too low to eat from and your hands were still cuffed to the arms of the chair.

He lifted a forkful of mash to your lips. You stared into his eyes with heated anger, and you felt tears burning to come out. You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Eat,” he said, calmly. This man, who did not hesitate to kill those people back at your camp, who took you hostage, who’s probably done more things like this, now tried to feed you like you were a child. It was like you woke up from one nightmare only to be thrown into a worse one, _again_.

“Who are you?” you asked, all of a sudden. As if that mattered.

“Eat,” he repeated.

And when there was only silence and a refusal to accept his offer, he said, “Eat,” again, and then, “or I’ll carve my name into your skin.”

It wasn’t like you thought he wouldn’t. You knew he was cold-hearted and selfish and uncaring. But if he were adamant on feeding you like this… would he really hurt you? What was the aim of his game? Why was he keeping you here? You kept your mouth shut. You would not allow yourself to be _hand_ _fed_ by this sick man.

He huffed, a sound of disappointment, and dropped the fork onto the tray. It landed with a thick sound, as it sunk into the mash. “Fine,” he said. He circled you slowly, and you turned your head as you tried to follow his movement. But he disappeared from your peripheral, and you couldn’t turn your head anymore. You could feel him lurking behind you and it only made the suspense worse. Was he bluffing?

He grabbed your right shoulder. You jumped at his sudden touch and squirmed underneath his grip but there wasn’t any use, since you were still strapped to the damn chair. He cut open your shirt so he wouldn’t have to unchain you to remove it. You felt the cool air against your bare skin as part of your shirt fell to sit around your waist, your bra exposed.

You squirmed and yelled against his tight grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“You have to _learn_ ,” he demanded, and stuck his knife into the muscle of your shoulder.

You screamed as he moved the knife upwards in a thin, straight line. The pain was hot, and it surged through your whole shoulder down to your arm. You thought you might throw up again from all the pain but there was nothing left in your stomach.

You tried to focus on the pain. Daryl said something one time, something about focusing on what hurt and turning that pain into anger but you could barely breathe properly. From the movement of his knife, you could tell that the first letter he cut into your skin was a _P_. You almost laughed, it was like a game of drawing letters on your back except much, much more sinister.

“Alright!” you yelled, “Alright… I’ll eat. I’ll eat, just please stop this…” you cried.

“That’s a good girl…” he said slowly, and he circled around back to the front. He lifted your chin with his hand, gently.

From slicing into your skin to holding your face with careful hands…

You let a sob escape and it seemed to be music to his ears.

“Eat,” he said, gentle and calm again, as if he didn’t just spend the last few minutes engraving the first letter of his name into your shoulder.

You opened your mouth and accepted the fork of mash. You chewed and swallowed. He repeated the same action and kept feeding you until all the food was gone. You felt queasy but you fought to keep it down. You wouldn’t know what he’d do to you if you vomited it all up. He’d probably force you to eat your own throw up.

“That’s better,” he commented, light-heartedly. “Now, you wanted to know who I am?”

You nodded, slowly, cautious, as if this were a trick or something to give him reason to carve the rest of his name.

He smiled, again, as if nothing had happened. “My name is the Governor. That’s what everyone calls me, anyway. You don’t need to know my real name. This town,” he picked up the empty tray, “this town is mine. I own it. The food, the supplies, the weapons, the people, all of it. They’re all alive because of me. And so are you.”

He turned towards the door, his shoulders relaxed, and his crisp shirt crinkled with the movement. Before he left, he said, “I’ll get someone down here to take a look at your shoulder,” and then, “Welcome to Woodbury.” With that, he left, closing and locking the door behind him.

You sank into the chair, your stiffness loosening. You gulped down the oncoming tears. You had to focus. Like Daryl said. You had to focus on the pain, turn it to anger, and find a way out of this mess. You had to.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just want to emphasise the warning for torture and non-consensual for this and the next couple (or few) chapters! I forgot to put the warning in the last chapter (so sorry!). I hope it doesn't deter you from reading but I understand if it makes you too uncomfortable.
> 
> Also wanted to announce that this fic will have a second (and maybe third) part continuation as the structure changes, which is why I separated them into different parts!

**_Now._ **

You woke up to hurried voices and yelling. You sat up as soon as you opened your eyes. Memories of the Governor that invaded your sleep quickly fizzled away when you realized what was happening. Sasha was panicked about a missing Bob and she commented on the disappearance of Carol and Daryl.

You looked at her with concern. There was talk of kidnapping. You looked to Rick.

He was about to lose it at Father Gabriel, considering what was written, or scratched, into the church walls.

You didn’t have time for this.

You ignored the accusations Rick aimed at Gabriel, and the eventual confession of what Gabriel had done to his congregation. You were busy packing up your stuff, which wasn’t much. Just reassembling your trusty backpack and making sure you had enough arrows left in your quiver. And maybe stealing a couple of snacks for the road.

Everyone was too occupied with Gabriel’s emotional outburst about what had happened before you all arrived to notice your taking off. You knew that at least Rick would understand your disappearance, but you weren’t entirely sure he’d support it.

You opened the church doors. It was dark out, but you were used to traveling at night. You neared the steps, tightening your grip on your backpack strap. You were repositioning your bow on your backpack when you noticed the figure in the dark. He was laying in the dirt by the church entrance. It was Bob.

“Guys!” you yelled, whether or not you’d interrupted their discussion was unknown to you. You were too focused on the bandaged stump of what used to be Bob’s leg.

Sasha came running to his side in seconds, an emotional choke of tears and sobs escaped her throat as she and others help lifted Bob inside the church.

Rick stared at you, still standing on the steps. He had already scanned the perimeter and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. If they were going to attack right now, they would have done it when everyone was helping Bob off the ground. But he knew they weren’t safe, not yet.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” he said, his face half shadowed by the night.

You swallowed, “They probably have a good reason for why they’re gone but I can’t sit here and wait. They make a good team and they care about each other, so I know he’s in good hands but…”

“But it’s hell not knowing for sure,” Rick finished. He looked at you curiously. He cared for his people, all of his people. He’d grown close to Daryl and although it wasn’t always like that, especially before the farm, you could see that their relationship had changed. They shared a form of brotherhood or something close to it.

Rick had always respected you, though you never really knew the extent of that. He could see that you cared. But you’d changed and he was still busy trying to figure you out all over again. Obviously, whatever had happened to you left its mark, on your skin, but also in the way you behaved now. You were different… but you were still the same, somewhere, deep down, you were still the ready to help, kind girl with a knack for shooting with her bow. He just had to look a little harder.

“Right,” you responded, shifting your eyes.

“I’d rather you stay here. If those bastards from Terminus show up…”

“You’ve got it covered,” you said, and you meant it. You wouldn’t leave like this if they were in dire need of your support or help. You may not care for being a team player as much as you used to, but you weren’t completely heartless.

He nodded, knowing he wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

You turned to go but stopped. You stood there a moment with your back toward him. He stood there too, waiting expectantly.

You looked at him over your shoulder, “You were right, you know.”

“How so?”

“About it not being over until they’re all dead. You were right.”

Rick stared at you. He didn’t know how to respond. He thought about Bob. He thought about you. He suddenly wondered what the hell had happened to you out there in the big, big, world of evil and ruin. And now, especially after what he saw at Terminus, he knew that it could’ve been _anything_.

He nodded. He at least knew you tried to support his argument earlier in the forest, outside Terminus. But now… now it felt truer. Now it felt personal. Like there was a deep vengeance in your eyes.

You nodded him a goodbye and headed towards the trees. He watched you go in silence before he went back inside the church to form a plan on how to deal with the last survivors of Terminus.

***

You followed the tracks through the trees, which led to a small clearing, which then led to a road. There were a couple of abandoned cars… and there should have been another one because of the fresh tracks and oil stains. You’d gotten better at this tracking game, you thought, and it hurt a little to realize that. If you’d been better a long time ago then maybe you would’ve found Daryl sooner than you did.

You ignored your annoyance and kept moving forward. It seemed they had driven off in a bit of a rush. You stared down the road, the night air growing chillier. You weren’t sure where they were headed but you would find out soon enough. You walked on in the shadows of the trees by the road, keeping your guard up.

You thought about the Terminus survivors and felt sick. Daryl told you on the way out of there, on your way to Gabriel’s church, what the sickos had been doing inside. Apparently, they decided to live just like the walkers and eat human flesh. Which was why you had felt the urge to vomit up your dinner, when you saw Bob’s stump. You weren’t stupid, you didn’t need a witness to tell you what they had used it for.

But why? Why subject yourself to the same lifestyle as the things you were trying to fight, trying to survive? You kicked at a fallen branch and watched it tumble downhill to your left. Sure, the world made a whole lot less sense than it did before but why act so grotesquely and despicable? Just because the world had gone to shit didn’t mean everyone else should.

You tried to submerge thoughts and memories about the Governor, but they had been growing stronger since the day you hallucinated him. And with Daryl now curious, and probably everyone else who witnessed your panic attack…

Could you tell Daryl? You hadn’t planned to. You might have thought about him when stuck in tricky situations as a means or motivation to get unstuck, but it never really dawned on you that you would see him again. That you would be able to talk to him again.

It wasn’t that you owed it to him to explain. But you used to share things with each other, things that hadn’t been shared with others. It was almost funny how well you connected with the guy… you’d never felt this close with anyone before the apocalypse. You allowed yourself a few seconds of thought about what your life was like back in the before, when you didn’t kill people on the daily, when you hadn’t even met Daryl.

It scared you how completely different those two worlds were.

And now, how completely different you were.

So, then, maybe you had to change. Like Daryl told you a long time ago in amidst those dusty books. If the world changed then you had to change with it but… why did only some people change into monsters?

***

**_Then._ **

You weren’t sure how long it’d been, exactly. The days all melted together. The Governor only fed you twice a day since you couldn’t exactly move around a whole lot to work up much of an appetite. And it was always the same thing. He refused to tell you what time of day it was, and the lack of sunlight didn’t help a bit in giving you a clue.

The only time you got to stretch your legs was when you had to piss, and even then, you were degraded and humiliated by having him as a personal escort.

It seemed that you were _his_ pet project. His only. You didn’t see another soul. You could sometimes hear others, laughing in the corridors or yelling in another room. Sometimes there were screams.

You wondered how many rooms he had for people like you.

When he wasn’t busy keeping you company, you thought about ways of escaping. But it never seemed realistic. Maybe they were only fantasies, fantasies that kept you alive and sane.

The trusty knife you had strapped to your torso at all times had vanished, not that you’d be able to reach for it anyway. This wasn’t the same as having your hands bound behind your back with loosely tied rope and a drunken set of idiots supervising you. This was different. A whole other level of insane.

One time, after he finished feeding you breakfast or dinner, he said, “Not that smart of a move to keep that knife on you like you did…”

You weren’t really used to him conversing with you. Other than the shit he dribbled about Woodbury and him being in charge, he didn’t talk much.

He smiled, “If you landed wrong, you could have killed yourself.”

“Better than being held prisoner,” you muttered, looking up at him.

He held your stare; he wasn’t one to back away from a challenge. He twisted his mouth in a humorous gesture and shook his head slowly, “Maybe, you should have thought twice about stealing from me, then.”

“If you’re so pissed at them for doing that then just get it over with!” you yelled, exasperated. You weren’t sure how much longer you could take of this imprisonment.

“What?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. He shoved the table away from your chair, just a bit, so he could sit on top of it. He was closer to you than ever, like when he cut the _P_ into your skin, or the other times he left scars. He leaned forward just a little bit more, “What?” he repeated, sternly.

“Y-you know what,” you said, and hated that you stammered. You couldn’t even say it.

“That’s not why you’re here,” he said, softly. He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and you flinched at his calloused fingers against your skin. “If I wanted to kill you, you would have been shot with your friends, your dead body lying in a ditch with ‘em.”

“They aren’t my friends,” you practically growled through your teeth, your jaw clenched from anxiety at his touch. You never could tell when he was going to hurt you.

His fingers left your hair be, and his hand returned to rest on his leg. He looked amused. He always did. Like some joke he knew about, and you didn’t. If this was his entertainment… if this was _funny_ for him then…

“They _weren’t_ your friends,” he emphasized. He reached out a hand to your cheek and his thumb brushed away a stray eyelash, “I have something else planned for us today.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt sick with nerves, “What?”

He pulled out a hairbrush. It looked like a child’s hairbrush. It looked nice and cared for, not the cheap ones you’d use on your own mop of hair back before. He held it momentarily in his hands for you to admire and then he circled around to your back.

You hated when he stood there, you couldn’t see him.

He carefully touched your hair. It wasn’t that long. You’d cut it after the farm with a pair of craft scissors you found in a kid’s backpack near a primary school when you were looking for canned food. But there was enough to brush. But why he was brushing it was beyond you…

He finished smoothing down your hair. His touch caused chills to run down your spine. He carefully brushed the ends of your hair. To be truthful, it’d been a while since you bothered detangling it, so it was probably wrecked with knots. It seemed like he knew what he was doing though, and he wasn’t just scraping it through your hair without a care in the world. His fingers delicately held the brush at an angle as he worked away the knots at the ends of your hair.

You swallowed and realized you’d been holding your breath.

You didn’t understand what it was that he wanted. He wouldn’t kill you, fine. He’d only hurt you sometimes. He was feeding you and brushing your damn hair. So, was this whole thing a forever plan? Did he really intend to keep you here… for the rest of your or his life?

You swallowed again, trying to moisten your dry mouth.

His fingers kept touching the sides of your face as he moved your hair this way and that. It only made you more nervous.

“You do this often?” you asked, boldly. You weren’t sure if conversations were allowed but you couldn’t just sit there and accept what was going on, not in silence, anyway.

He took a moment. Then he carefully said, “Yes, for my daughter.”

 _Daughter_. _Okay_. You licked your lips, “What’s her name?”

Silence.

You clenched your hands into fists anxiously, waiting for him to yell at you for asking. But only silence followed silence. You thought about his name. The Governor. You thought about the one he almost carved into your shoulder. _P._

“What’s _your_ name?” you started, innocently, “I mean… your real name. It starts with a P, right?”

He didn’t say anything at first. He just worked the brush through your hair. You wondered if he was angry or just tired of talking altogether. “It’s Philip,” he answered, his voice softer than before.

“Why the Governor?”

“Why not?” he simply responded.

You couldn’t think of a good enough reason, besides, you were sure he wouldn’t want one anyway.

He stopped brushing your hair, it seemed he had detangled it enough. He ran his fingers slowly through the strands and you could imagine a satisfied grin on his face. Whatever kind of enjoyment he got out of this; you’d never understand. But to his credit, your hair did feel a lot smoother.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

For some reason, you thought he already knew it. But you must have assumed wrong. You didn’t really want him to know your name, he already had all of your freedom. But he told you yours… and you didn’t really have much of a choice, since you were the one cuffed to a chair. “It’s Y/N.”

His fingers found your bare shoulder, the one he almost cut his whole name into. They lingered there.

***

You’d grown into a shell of the person you used to be. You could feel it. The emptiness. That was all that was left. And there already wasn’t a whole lot left to begin with.

Day in and day out of nothing but being used for the Governor’s entertainment. When you closed your eyes and tried to sleep, you’d never _really_ fall asleep. You’d just relive it all and wake up with a start, sick to your stomach. Desperation was reaching its breaking point. If you couldn’t get out of there soon…

He’d come in for visits more often. Sometimes he talked to you and sometimes he didn’t. He treated you like a prisoner, kept you locked up, but in some strange and sick way, at least being able to talk to him was a sort of comfort. But you’d never admit it.

He walked in one day, slow, and his blue eyes seemed distant. He stopped in the middle of the room.

“Philip?” you asked, cautiously. Some days, you treaded on thinner ice than others. You already learned the hard way of what those consequences were.

“Y/N,” he started, as if only just aware of your presence. He came closer to you and then sat on the edge of the table again, the one now permanently in front of you. His eyes lingered on your exposed shoulder a little too long. He breathed out, “I may have to visit you less frequently.”

You felt a sense of relief, but you didn’t dare let it show, “Why’s that?”

“Got some trouble. Another group. Nothing for you to worry ‘bout, though, uh-huh.”

You nodded. Silence followed. You were starting to wonder if this was one of his worse days…

He got up from the table and neared you. He loomed above you, staring down at you, without as much of a word. Then he brought his hand to your face, his fingers brushing over your cheek slowly, to then meet your hair. Were you some sort of fantasy, a deep-seated dark secret he had always wanted, even before the end of the world?

“Philip…?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You hoped he didn’t catch onto it, you hoped he didn’t realize how truly terrified you were.

“Hmm?” he hummed, dropping his hand back to his side. But he didn’t move away. He was still so close that you could smell the recent shower on him.

You swallowed, your mouth beginning to dry out. You tried to focus. But your breathing became quick, rapidly. You hoped your voice didn’t tremble as much as you thought it did. “Why… why am I here?”

He blinked. He looked as if he was taken aback by your question, as if he weren’t expecting you to ask him something like that. He looked at you kindly, his eyes soft, but they turned mean quick, “If you’re asking me that, then I’ve been too soft on you.”

You choked on air and felt a panic surge through your chest, “No, I— I didn’t—”

He leaned closer to you; his hand gripped the arm of the chair you were chained to. His face was inches away from yours. “You know why you’re here.”

“B-because—” but you couldn’t say it, fear had its tight grip around your throat and choked down the words.

“Because your friends stole from me…” he finished, a sudden flare of anger in his eyes. “They stole from me,” he repeated.

“I’m sorry…” you whimpered, and you flinched when he raised his hand. But his fingers only gently touched the side of your face.

“I don’t think you are,” he whispered, searching your eyes.

He yanked your hair back so that your face was forced upwards, your chin in the air. You screamed and he covered your mouth with his hand to stifle the sound, “I think I need to remind you of what you did—” his hand was pressed so firmly on your face, it covered your nostrils too and you struggled to breathe properly.

You fought against his grip and bit down on his fingers. He yelled and removed his hand from your mouth, jerking it back. You screamed louder and pulled against the chains though you knew it wouldn’t do any good. He shook the pain out of his hand and then wiped the blood from your bite onto his shirt. He pulled out a knife from his belt and forcefully positioned it over your throat.

You stopped yelling and struggling against your restraints. You stopped completely, except for your jagged breathing that puffed out of your open mouth. You were going to die. You knew it would happen sooner or later. You held your breath and shut your eyes, tight, and you thought of Daryl. You thought of how he told you that you were strong, stronger than he ever thought you’d be. That you could survive this. That—

He lowered his knife, slowly, but he still held your hair back to keep your face looking up at him as he towered over you. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving up and down from all the excitement.

You dared to open your eyes, and you saw his face looming above you. He was angry. But it was the silent kind, the cold kind.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said. “But if you _make_ me kill you, then I don’t have a choice.”

You swallowed and nodded, to the best of your ability. You were starting to ease up again. To breathe slower. But it wouldn’t end there, and you’d be foolish to think that there wouldn’t be any punishment.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Now_.**

You wiped absent-mindedly at the scars left on your arms. They were covered by your jacket sleeves, but you could always feel them when you thought of him. When you thought of the Governor.

Your breath escaped your lips in short puffs as you kept moving. You weren’t sure how long it’d been since you left the church, but the night was dreadfully cold. You were confident you were on the right track, though, and it seemed that Carol and Daryl were headed towards Atlanta.

The Governor never liked the pretty scar that was left above your eyebrow, the one Calvin left for you as his parting gift. What an asshole. At first, you hated the scar. Because it reminded you of Calvin’s stinking breath and the image of him drinking your wine and stealing your food as he pleased. But then you grew to like it, it meant that no matter how many times people would imprison your or try to control you, you would take them down and leave them in the dirt.

Until the Governor.

Philip inspected your face the first day you were imprisoned underneath Woodbury and said he didn’t like that scar. It was big, it was noticeable. Hell, you even noticed Daryl eyeing it when you reunited. But why should it matter so much to the Governor?

You swallowed. Why the hell couldn’t you get him out of your head? For all you knew, he could be dead right this minute, and you were still letting him have control!

A sudden snap of a twig caused you to stop in your tracks. You side-stepped and hid behind a tree, your back pressed up against the bark. If it were a walker, you would just take it down and move on. If it were human…

“Stop stepping all over the place, you’ll draw walkers.” It was Daryl.

“I’m trying!” it was a voice you didn’t recognize.

You stepped out from behind the tree as they got close enough to see your shadowed figure, and instinctively held up your hands so they wouldn’t shoot.

Daryl had his crossbow pointed at you, but he lowered it as soon as he saw your face in the dim moonlight, “Y/N,” he muttered.

“Found you,” you said.

“This is Noah,” he gestured to the guy that was half-limping, half-suffering, trying to walk quietly. Daryl always hated it when people made so much noise, it would scare the game away… and draw unnecessary attention.

“Noah?” you asked, looking at the kid briefly, then you fell in-step with Daryl as they continued back towards the church, “What about Carol?”

“We’re going back for her, and Beth, but we need more people to help. Everyone okay at the church?” Daryl said, walking quickly.

You went to say that everybody was fine but then you remembered Bob, “Bob…” you weren’t even sure how to put it.

“Bob?” he asked, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder.

“Bob was… taken by some people from Terminus… and then brought back, without one of his legs.”

Noah looked at you both with wide eyes.

Daryl shook his head, “Sonofabitch,” he muttered under his breath. “Why the hell are you out here looking for us?”

You didn’t answer him.

“You should a’ stayed behind,” he continued, obviously not caring if you were going to answer or not.

“Well,” you started, “obviously, you needed my help,” you gestured to the boy who still struggled to keep up with you both.

Daryl grumbled something but you didn’t catch it.

“How much farther?” Noah asked.

“Not long,” you and Daryl both said. That seemed to shut him up.

“Look,” Daryl suddenly started, “I know you know how to handle yourself. But don’t come lookin’ for me in the dead of night, all by yourself, a'ight? What if something happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“But what if somethin' did?” he urged, stopping in his tracks. He was serious. You could tell by the look in his eyes, the emotion that clouded the blue.

“I just had to make sure you were alright,” you said.

“You should've just waited for me to come back.”

Your face hardened and your stare became cold, “What if you didn’t come back?”

He shook his head, “But I did!” he argued, “It’s not like I’m just gonna take off and not—”

You silenced him with a look.

He looked hurt. He swallowed, “Nuh-uh,” he started, shaking his head, “ _That_ was different. I had no choice. I came back for you, but you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere! I looked for you—”

“Obviously, not hard enough,” you growled and immediately regretted saying it.

He breathed in and out, a shaky kind of breath. You could tell he was pissed. He swallowed down the emotions though, he had to. He looked away from you.

“Daryl—” you started, already wanting to apologize. What you said wasn’t fair, and you knew it, but you still hadn’t any resolve with the things that had happened since that night.

“Don’t go wanderin’ around at night by yourself,” he stated. “Beth did, for one minute, she was out of my sight and then she got taken. I can’t let that happen to you, too. Not _you_.” He ended the conversation by walking off, Noah in tow.

You stood there. You never blamed him for it. Not really. You were mad. Mad at yourself. You were mad that you couldn’t find him. Now it felt like if you let him go, you’d never find him ever again.

You jogged to catch up, but you lingered behind for the rest of the way in silence.

***

**_Then._ **

It’d been a while since the Governor stopped by for more than your breakfast and dinner times. He’d come in, give you your food, then when it was all done, he’d leave, and not a single word was uttered between you. You thought it was for the best. It gave you more time to think of a way out.

Though part of you knew it was still only a faraway fantasy.

Then one day, he didn’t get up and leave straight away after you were finished eating. Instead, he sat on the table’s edge and waited. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for. Your heart climbed to your throat in anticipation and all you could hear was your blood pumping. You started to wonder if he’d been distant for a reason, and if now was when you’d find out why. You hoped whatever he had in store would be quick.

“When are you going to tell me that you knew your friends were stealing from me?” he suddenly asked.

You weren’t sure how to respond. You knew he was looking for the truth but even if you gave him that, would it still satisfy him? Would he believe you? But if you lied, he’d surely pick up on that. You swallowed.

He narrowed his eyes at you, “Answer me.”

“I…” you tried to slow your breathing, you tried to seem less anxious, you were scared that your fears would only make him angry. “I didn’t know that they were stealing from you…” you said, and caught his sudden furious glance, “but I knew that they were stealing from someone.”

His eyes softened a little and the quiet rage seemed to dissipate, rather quickly. He breathed in and out slowly, his posture relaxed, “Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

You looked away, momentarily, and stared at the concrete ground before you, “I’m not really a leader… and I’m not much of a team player, anymore,” you sighed, “I guess I thought I’d just leave them up to their own devices because… if they got us food and water and supplies, then so be it. It wasn’t my business how they got it.” You looked up at him again, “I was wrong.”

He nodded, slowly, as if in thought. He tugged at his shirt sleeves, staring at the cuffs as he spoke, “So, they really weren’t your friends, mm?”

You shook your head, “They weren’t.”

“Then how did you end up together?”

You glanced at his feet, one kept him propped up and the other dangled slightly, just above the concrete floor. His boots a dark brown. You didn’t like giving him details about your life, about the way you worked; it was like with everything you shared, he’d have more control. But you’d suffered the consequences of not doing what he asked before. “They attacked my camp.”

His eyes widened and an amused looking smile creeped up onto his face, “Attacked your camp? And you thought it would be a good idea to team up?”

“It… it wasn’t like that…” you said, and suddenly wondered if he’d yell at you for talking back. But he didn’t. He sat there, still, expectant. He was curious. You continued, “They wouldn’t leave me alone. I wanted them to go… but they didn’t.”

He wasn’t satisfied yet, “How did they attack your camp?”

“They were with some guy. I guess it was his idea. The boy came in, acted innocent, then I got knocked out and tied up.”

He raised an eyebrow. Obviously, this wasn’t the first time you’d been held against your will. You wondered if that was what he was thinking about.

“What happened to ‘this guy’? I only saw those two,” he asked, referring to Calvin.

“I killed him.”

He looked at you. The first real look of curiosity and intrigue. You’d only ever seen contempt and greed. This was different. “Hm.” He got up from the table. “You just let them follow you around, like lost puppies?”

“I guess.”

“Why?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you couldn’t. You looked away from him, closed your eyes. Your breathing became shallower and your chest felt tighter. You didn’t want to admit it. You didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want him to know.

You heard him come closer to you with the slight shuffle of his shoes. You sensed him bend over, his hand rested on the arm of the chair again as it squeaked with sudden weight, his face probably just as close as it was the last time, if not closer. You could hear him breathing through his nose.

“Look at me,” he said, softly.

You didn’t want to, but the threat of the consequences to refusing his orders hung in the air, so you succumbed and opened your eyes. You turned your head, so you were facing him, straight on. Your breath trembled; all you could see was him.

“Why?” he repeated.

You swallowed and felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You didn’t want to show him any weakness. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You only wanted to earn his trust so that maybe he’d let you out of this damn room. You weren’t supposed to take it this far, but it was already too late, you knew the consequences if you didn’t obey him.

“I… I didn’t want to be alone anymore,” you choked, and your cheeks felt wet.

He wiped away the tears with his thumbs, on both sides of your face. He looked as though he might have cared but you could never be certain with him. If he cared, like a normal human being, you wouldn’t be chained up and treated like his prisoner.

“You aren’t alone…” he whispered, his hand cupping the side of your face. His icy eyes searched yours. He pulled you towards him, and he kissed your lips.

You were so surprised you didn’t dare move, didn’t dare reject it. You let him kiss you. You squeezed your eyes shut and felt the panic deep within you and you froze. But if you moved or did anything to piss him off, you knew he would make your life even more hellish.

You tasted the salt from your tears. He was slow and careful, and it didn’t last as long as you thought it did, maybe because you were so afraid you would do something wrong. He pulled away and hovered over you as if hesitant; regretful, even.

He must have felt your surprise. Your shock. He must have been thinking of ways to punish you for that. So many thoughts entered your mind on what his next move was so you cut it off before he could do anything to hurt you, and you reached out as far as the restraints let you and kissed him back.

He was rigid at first and surprised too. But he pushed you back into the chair again as his hands slid to the back of your neck and up into your hair. His leg was pressed in between yours to keep himself from falling on you, his knee rested between your thighs.

You couldn’t move any part of you at all, so you just had to accept it. You had to. Maybe if he cared about you, maybe if you showed that you cared for him too, he might let you out. He might let you out to live with him in Woodbury and then you could escape.

In the night, you would leave Woodbury behind and just keep running.

One of his hands dropped to your thigh as he sighed into the kiss, and you fought the urge to squirm against his touch. His palm splayed over your jeans. He wanted more from you, he always wanted more.

His lips hovered over yours, so close, they still touched. He stood up straight again and looked down at you. He held your chin, so you looked up at him, his thumb swiped away the saliva left on your bottom lip. “You’re my little secret,” he said, and then took the empty dinner tray with him out the door.

You finally let it out, after he’d left, after you were sure he was gone. You let the tears flow. You sobbed and cried to your poor heart’s content. You were his little secret… he would never let you leave. He would never let you out of this place.

You should have known.

Maybe if you closed your eyes you would quietly slip away. If you could just give up now. Gaining his trust and his affection was your last chance. But he made it clear to you that no one knew of this, and no one ever would. So, if you could just give up…

But all you could think about was seeing Daryl again.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Now._ **

Beth was dead.

None of you knew what to do. What the next plan was. Eugene wasn’t a scientist with a cure. Beth had been shot and killed. Rick had killed the hospital group’s leader. Maggie looked empty. Daryl…

Daryl wouldn’t speak to you; he could hardly look at you.

Tyreese had died at the walled community Noah used to live at. A walker bite, apparently. Another dead end.

Attitudes and arguments rose when water and food became close to diminishing completely. Daryl was busy in search of supplies and a fresh water source so no one would die of dehydration, and it was a good enough excuse to not have to talk to anybody.

D.C. was supposed to be the saving grace. But you didn’t feel all that hopeful.

When you all found the barn, by then, fresh water from the sky had made its way into your bellies, and your lips didn’t feel so chapped and dry. Bottles were filled. And even though food was still scarce, at least you had water. But the lingering question of who left the full water bottles out on the road for your group troubled you. Daryl had seemed set that somebody was following, and that was probably true.

The water was probably too good to be true. After Terminus, hell, after _everything_ , no one could be trusted.

It was dark once you were all inside the barn. Everyone was dead tired. Carl and Judith had already passed out and you felt as though you could be next. But everyone else were still wide awake and anxious for the day to come, so much so that there was still quiet chatter amongst most members of the group.

You purposely sat down next to Daryl. You leaned your back against the barn wall, your shoulder touching his. You looked at him. He hesitated at first but soon returned the gaze.

“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry about Beth,” you said it quietly, so that others didn’t hear your conversation. “I know I didn’t know her very well but… she always seemed like a good person. She cared about others. I liked that about her.”

He nodded. “She did. Maybe… too much,” he shifted uncomfortably, and you thought the conversation had ended there but then he spoke again, “She was a survivor. She didn’t know it but she…” he looked away.

You touched his shoulder carefully.

“She reminded me of you…” he suddenly said and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. He swallowed the rest of his tears. “Not completely but… I don’t know,” he sighed, “maybe… maybe I was just looking for you in her, but—”

You hugged him. It was an awkward side hug, with you both sitting on the barn floor. But it was all you could do for him. He laughed, just a little. It was quiet. He hugged you back. Then he cried. But you let him, in the comfort of your arms around him, you waited until he finished.

You brushed his hair out of his eyes, “It’s gonna be okay.”

“You always said that,” he said.

You smiled, thinking about how things were back on the farm, for a brief moment. You were a lot more hopeful back then, a lot more optimistic. But part of that stayed with you, especially when you were around Daryl. You sighed, “I’m sorry about what I said, in the forest. About the herd on the farm.”

He nodded his head a little, his fingers fidgeting with a loose strand on the hem of his shirt. “You don’t have to be… We all say shit we don’t mean; I get that. But thanks.”

You nodded.

His hair kept falling in front of his face and he smiled because it annoyed you. You shook your head at him, touching his long hair, “I’m gonna have to cut this hair of yours…”

“What was his name?” Abraham said, suddenly louder than before. You turned towards him, and Daryl looked over at him too. He was sitting beside Rosita, his face pulled into a frown.

“Who?” Rick answered, who was sitting across from Abraham, exhaustion from the last week melted into his voice.

“You know, the guy who attacked your prison…” Abraham said, “The Mayor?”

“Governor. It was the Governor.”

It was like time stopped. All of the panic that had slowly been creeping in, the way those memories of Philip had been infecting your mind worse than the virus that brought people back from the dead, it was like all of it exploded when you heard Rick utter _his_ name.

_The Governor_.

You couldn’t breathe. You were struggling to even suck in the tiniest bit of air. You clenched your fingers into fists and your eyes were wide with fright as you blinked furiously at the two men. You were staring at them with such intensity, but they didn’t notice a thing.

“No wonder he was such a nutcase, who in the _hell_ calls himself the Governor?” Abraham laughed.

“Are you alright?” It was Daryl. He had quickly noticed your sudden discomfort, like a radar. He had told himself to watch for the signs in case anything like what happened at Terminus happened again. Your sudden tension and widened eyes – this change in behavior was the same as the panic attack at Terminus.

“He _was_ a nutcase,” Michonne spat with venom, in agreement.

You stood up, or more like jumped up. You were gulping down panicked breaths. You were completely unaware of how frightened you really looked.

Daryl got up slowly after you, and Rick noticed his alarm.

“Is he dead?” you asked in a rush. Everyone stopped their conversation and looked at you. But no one answered you; everyone who'd personally known the Governor were confused. You and Philip were supposed to have no connection because you were never at the prison.

Rick looked to Daryl.

“ _Is he dead!?_ ” you practically yelled, and it woke up Judith and Carl. You couldn’t help it. When you escaped Woodbury all those months ago, you wanted to kill him. You wanted to shoot the bastard yourself, but the fear gripped you like nothing else. The fear that he would somehow win. The fear that he would somehow lock you back up inside that dungeon, to starve.

“Tell me!” you urged.

But Rick wouldn’t give an answer, he only stared back, surprised.

“You mean Brian?” Tara suddenly asked, and you looked back at her; puzzled. _Brian_?

You shook your head, finding Rick's eyes again, “Rick,” you said, your voice riddled with nerves, so much so, it shook with every vowel. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, “You told me some guy with an _eyepatch_ attacked the prison.”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with watchful eyes, nodding slowly, “the Governor.”

You were breathing so fast you thought you might have a heart attack, “So, is he dead!?” Your eyes were wild as you stared around at their faces looking for the only answer you wanted.

“Yes,” Tara said.

You locked eyes with her. You felt Daryl close behind you. But it didn’t matter, nothing would calm you down. Nothing would calm you down more than hearing how he died. “Did you see it, for yourself? Did you _see_ him die!?”

“I-I did,” she said, rushed, “I watched my sister put a bullet in his head before the walkers…” she couldn’t finish the rest of her sentence.

“And I stuck my sword through his back,” Michonne added, almost proudly, but she was suspicious of your outburst.

You stumbled back a little, as if a weight had been lifted. You swallowed; your mouth was unpleasantly dry. You couldn’t believe your ears. All this time, you thought the bastard was still lurking out there. In the shadows. Ready to make you his prisoner again.

“H-how did you know Brian?” Tara asked, trying to calm the situation.

You suddenly noticed that your hand gripped your knife. You thought you lost it back at Terminus but when you came back to the church with Daryl and Noah, one of the Terminus guys who were slaughtered by your group had it in his belt. You stared down at it as if your hand had a will of its own. That was why everyone looked so panicked. You didn’t even remember grabbing your knife out of your belt, like that time when you woke up with it in your hand around the campfire, with Rick and Daryl.

You sheathed the knife. You tried to calm your breathing.

“How did you know him?” Rick repeated Tara’s question.

“His name isn’t _—wasn’t_ Brian,” you said suddenly, as if it mattered. It didn’t. You knew it didn’t. You just didn’t know how to tell them what had happened; you didn’t _want_ to tell them. All you had wanted to know was if he was dead, in the ground. “It was Philip.”

There was silence at first.

“You mean…” Daryl started, an angry edge to his voice, “You mean _P_ stands for… for Philip?”

You forgot that he knew about the scar on your shoulder. You forgot that everyone knew. The past few days, while stumbling around on the road trying to fight the daze of dehydration, you’d taken your jacket off like everyone else. All that was left was a tank-top which exposed your shoulders and arms to everyone. But you were so caught up in the heat and the lack of water that you didn’t care who saw. People like Glenn and Maggie noticed big time because they knew those scars weren’t there before. Others like Abraham and Rosita watched with a careful eye but weren’t exactly surprised to see them. Everyone knew about the big, fat _P_ that was carved into your shoulder, it was unmissable.

You bit back the tears, “Yes.”

“ _Sonofabitch!_ ” Daryl yelled, thumping his fist against the barn wall. “You were at Woodbury? This whole time?”

You shook your head, “N-not the whole time…”

“How long?” Rick asked.

“I don’t know…” you admitted, and you ignored the confused looks you got. You wiped the tears as they came, it was no use trying to hold it in any longer. “I was a prisoner. I didn’t know how much time passed; he wouldn’t tell me. The room was dark. He fed me the same thing twice a day… I had no idea if it was morning or night.”

“How did you get out?” Glenn asked. His eyes were full of worry but… something else. A sense of empathy or understanding.

You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You didn’t want to see the Governor’s face anymore or hear his voice. But you stood your ground. Even though your knees shook. You couldn’t let him win, not now. “There was an attack…”

***

**_Then_.**

The Governor hadn’t come in at all that day. You started to wonder if some serious shit was going on. Then you started to wonder what would happen to you if everyone above ground had died. No one would know you were here.

You trembled at the thought.

You’d been anticipating his visit and not in a good way. You had to mentally prepare yourself. You tried to get him to give. You tried to know his weaknesses. One time recently, he told you about his daughter, Penny. You’d finally got him to give you her name, but the conversation didn’t last long. If trusting you enough to let you out of the dungeon wasn’t going to happen, then maybe you could piss him off enough to…

You frustratedly pulled at your restraints, though it never worked. But you couldn’t stand it anymore. You just couldn’t.

There was a jingle of keys at the door to your room. You stopped pulling on the restraints and silently watched as the handle moved and the door was opened.

You frowned when you met eyes with a stranger. No, not a stranger, he was at your camp the day they took you away. He was the man who killed those people on the Governor’s orders.

You swallowed. Maybe the day finally came.

He stood there by the door for a moment and watched you. Not with interest or curiosity, his expression was emotionless… except for the faint twitch of confusion in his eyes. He closed the door behind him and then took a couple steps towards you, and you noticed the tray of food in his hands.

“Boss is busy,” he simply stated and placed the tray down on the table. He tilted his head, biting inside his lower lip as he thought, “You know, I didn’t think you’d still be down here.”

You weren’t sure if you were supposed to reply. Was he making some kind of joke?

“I thought he’d bring you here, show you the ropes, maybe convince you to stay and work for Woodbury… or kill you.” He walked around the side of the table and you caught a glimpse of his arm, his one arm, the other was cut off near the elbow and instead, a contraption of some kind was strapped to the stump. A blade protruded out of it, so it acted like some sort of weapon.

“I thought he was going to kill me, too,” you said, sharply, a sudden burst of courage showed through.

He looked at you. Then, he slowly nodded, “If he were gonna kill you he’d-a done it by now.” You recognized the strong accent and you were reminded of Daryl. Not only that… something about the way he stood. Something about his eyes. Not just the color blue but the way he held them, and himself.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s doin' but he sure seems to wanna keep you alive,” he continued. He looked at the tray momentarily then back at you, “What’s your name?”

“Y/N…” you replied. You swallowed, “What’s yours?”

“Merle,” he said, chin up.

You suddenly wondered why that name sounded so familiar.

He paced the room, in front of you. He stopped by the table. He concentrated hard, frowning, and then he found your eyes, “Wanna know how I lost it?”

“Your arm?”

He smiled, “Well, it ain’t my sanity, darlin’.”

You huffed in amusement, a short little chuckle, and it surprised you. You weren’t sure when the last time you laughed was, and you couldn’t believe you were laughing while fucking strapped to a chair against your will.

His smile only grew. He lifted his right arm up in the air so you could see it clearly, “I got chained up to a roof by a county deputy, _officer friendly_ , and left there to be eaten alive.”

You blinked.

“Had to cut it off myself, hurt like a _bitch_.” He dropped his arm to his side again and shook his head. “Thought I might die ‘til I met the Governor. Now it’s a fuckin’ weapon!”

“So?”

He smiled again, shaking his head, he laughed, “ _So_?” he paused to laugh again, a loud, kind of dry, cackle, “You’re chained up to a chair for weeks and a man comes in with a sword as an arm tellin’ you his story and you say… _so_?”

You blinked again.

He stopped shaking his head in disbelief, “You know, you remind me of someone.” He pushed your tray of food to the side and sat down on the edge of the table, like the Governor always did. Except he usually did it after he fed you. Was the food a trick? Were you only supposed to _think_ that you were safe, for now, only to be sliced in the throat by this one-armed redneck? The Governor didn't even have the balls to do it himself?

“Who?” you dared to ask, ignoring your sudden dry mouth.

“My brother,” he answered. He looked away from you. “He’s always quiet. But when he’s loud, he’s real loud, you can’t miss him. He always does the right thing, as if it means somethin’. Even now, I bet he’s probably out there helpin’ somebody who don’t even need it.”

“But if you get him angry… you better say _bye-bye_.” Merle licked his lips in thought, his eyes unfocused, “He probably doesn’t even know I’m still alive…”

Your eyes widened but you were quick to blink your surprise away before Merle caught onto it. You felt your heart leap in your chest. It all clicked into place. You’d briefly heard a story about Daryl’s brother, Merle, who lost an arm, but you weren’t really sure of how it happened, no one seemed to want to give the details. Merle’s mannerisms, the way he talked, though he was much more talkative than Daryl, it was the way he said things. And his description of Daryl was so true. You were almost bewildered.

You thought quickly to yourself, as Merle started rambling on about some girl he had a thing with recently. You could tell him that you knew his brother and gain a sympathy vote… but would that really work? If what he said was true, about Rick chaining him to the roof and leaving him to die, then maybe he couldn’t care less if you were part of that group. And, so what if you knew Daryl? You couldn’t prove to him that you were close with Daryl, and he probably wouldn’t give two shits about it either. From what you knew, Daryl had a rocky relationship with his brother.

So, what could you do?

He suddenly stopped talking, he must have finished his story. He hopped off the table and reached for your right wrist. He fumbled with his keys. All the while, you stared in shocked silence. Merle took out the key and unlocked one of your cuffs, then, he unlocked the other.

You weren’t ever free to eat your meals on your own. You twisted your wrists, hearing the bones click. You stared at him, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to ask for your final words before he cut you open and bled you dry.

He sat back onto the table again. His palm slid over the short tufts of hair on his head, “You gonna eat or what? I don’t have all day. Like I said, Governor’s busy and I got shit I need-a do.”

You nodded and scooped up the food. You were hungry. Which was weird because you were hardly hungry anymore. You ate carefully but not too slowly that he’d notice you were stalling, so you could plan a way of escape.

The door was unlocked. You were unchained. But there was still the problem of Merle and his arm for a sword. And… the town above. If it was anything like Philip said, then it was armed with guards who had guns and surrounded by big, four walls.

It seemed impossible. But the guards wouldn’t know who you were, so it might be possible to slip by them, unnoticed. So maybe, you’re only real problem was Merle, Daryl’s big brother.

You sighed.

“What,” he started, “something wrong with the mash?”

An explosion of gunfire and yelling suddenly echoed from up above. You glanced up at the roof with wide eyes. Your heart was thumping so loud, you could hear it echoing in your ears. Merle followed your gaze. He looked as if he knew what was going on up there, but he didn’t look relieved or the tiniest bit happy about it. Then he looked at you. He blinked.

You gulped down your current mouthful. You could rush at him, knock him to his side and just keep running. If your legs would even be strong enough to do so. But he might not be that fast. He would obviously take you down in seconds if he got near enough, but if you could get a weapon…

“Look,” he said, eyeing you intensely, as he hopped off the table. He backed away towards the door. “I’m gonna leave, there’s obviously a hell of a lotta trouble up there.”

You looked at him with a pained expression, “Please…” it was your last ditch-effort, and if that didn’t work, you would have to die trying.

He bit his lip, only for a second, a brief, brief moment, and he suddenly looked like Daryl. He stood near the doorway, “Your bow, it’s still in the house next door,” he said, and closed the door behind him. You heard his footsteps clamber up a well of stairs and fade into the distant yelling and gunfire.

You jumped up from the chair. You ran to the door without a second thought and stopped before reaching the handle. Your fingers slowly grasped the handle and you twisted it. The door opened.

The adrenalin was what pushed you up those steps, despite your weak legs. There was shouting and gunfire everywhere in the main street. But there were smoke grenades too. You thanked your lucky stars, or whoever it was that was causing such a distraction, and you reached the room where they kept your weapons. You found your bow in no time and slung the quiver of arrows over your shoulder. You found your pack, too, though it was practically empty. You took it all and headed straight through to the main street.

There was too much action near the front gates. So, you headed towards the back wall instead. Everyone was too preoccupied with the current attack to notice your existence, though, you kept to the shadows as much as you could.

You reached the wall, and no one was guarding it. You clambered up and over in quick motions. Everyone must have been busy defending the front of the town. You landed on your feet and paused, only for a moment. You thought about Philip. A rage boiled within you and you turned back to the wall. But you realized you were out; you were _free_ and maybe that was enough.

You headed straight into the trees, not another moment longer.

You ran, and you ran, and you ran.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter to this part! Make sure to check out the continuation, which should be listed in the same series named 'Dary Dixon', called 'Red Sun Rises like an Early Morning'. Thanks for reading & interacting with me through this fic! I'm overjoyed that it got people's interests enough to read.

**_Now._ **

“There was an attack on the town. I was locked up below, I don’t really remember, but he had a bunch of rooms where he… he kept people. I heard screaming sometimes, and crying.”

You crouched down onto your heels and then sat down. Your knees were pulled up to your chest, and you rested your arms on them. Your forehead pressed into your arms. You wanted to forget it all. But it was too late now.

You lifted your head. “Merle… he…” you swallowed and turned your head to look at Daryl, “He let me go.”

“He… did?” Daryl asked, softly.

You nodded, “He came to give me food. Usually, only the Governor fed me, he wouldn’t even unchain me from the chair so that I could eat it myself. He would feed me and…” you wiped your eyes, suddenly feeling sick. “Merle didn’t know that, I guess. I don’t know. Philip was busy. Merle came in, talked about Rick and you, Daryl, then he unchained me and let me eat. But there was gunfire and yelling… he left the door unlocked and told me my bow was still upstairs. If he hadn’t have done that… I don’t know where I would be.”

Daryl looked at Rick and then back at you, a sense of pride but a quiet sadness behind his eyes. You assumed that the worst had happened to Merle. 

But something bugged you, and you caught Rick’s eyes, “You said he had an eyepatch,” you suddenly repeated, a detail you couldn’t quite understand. “Philip never had an eyepatch when I was there…”

Rick swallowed and looked hesitantly to Glenn and Daryl before speaking. Neither of them stopped him before he continued, “The attack on Woodbury… that was us.”

You blinked, your breath escaping again. Your eyebrows pulled together into a deep, confused, _disbelieving_ frown. “ _What?_ ” you barely got out, and you suddenly felt like someone hit you right in the gut, knocking all the wind out of your lungs.

Rick sighed and looked to his boots, and everyone in the room felt the shock of it. You could have reunited with them long before all of this. You could have been with them at the prison before the Governor tried taking it down, again. You could have been the one to shoot him right in between the eyes.

He continued, “We attacked Woodbury to rescue Glenn and Maggie. They’d been kidnapped and were… held in one of those rooms—”

“But we blasted through that place n’ I didn’t see another locked door,” Daryl heatedly interjected, also still in disbelief. He was finding it hard to accept that you were right there with them and they _still_ didn’t find you.

You wiped the remaining speckles of tears off your cheeks, “I was further underground. There was another room. I… I heard screams that day, all day… but they were muffled. I couldn’t hear what they were saying…” you caught eyes with Glenn and Maggie. “I didn’t _want_ to know what they were saying.”

Rick wet his lips, “Michonne found the Governor and stabbed him through the eye with a piece of glass, that night. That’s how he lost it. After… or while you escaped.”

You nodded, slowly. It was all so strange. The times you were so close to seeing each other, the people you both knew…

“Andrea was there, too.”

You focused in on Rick’s eyes again, “What?”

“She was in Woodbury… with the Governor.”

You stared at him, hard. You noticed your palms suddenly stung and you caught a glimpse of the deep nail marks left in your skin. You must have clenched your fists too hard, but you were so panicked, you didn’t even notice it. Not only that, you could feel nausea bubbling from your stomach up to your throat and the sudden urge to vomit was overpowering. “… _With?”_ it was barely a whisper.

Rick nodded and that was confirmation enough.

You choked back your disgusted groan, with Andrea, with the Governor, with yourself… he’d played you and you fell for it. You were never going to be allowed to escape that prison. You really were his little secret, a dark fantasy. How could Andrea have not _seen_ him for who he really was? “I thought you said she died…”

Rick nodded, “She did but… not at the farm. We got separated from her, too. She got bit. The Governor did it to her. Had her chained up to a chair, in one of those rooms—”

Your face fell into your hands and you groaned, your breathing became rapid and panicked. The room. The chains. The chair. Andrea. You shook the image of that room away, desperately, it was as if you might find that you were still there if you thought too hard on it. You opened your eyes, but your forehead was still pressed against your palms, your elbows on your knees. “Why did he kill her?”

“She was going to betray him,” Michonne answered, swallowing her emotion. “She was going to help us.”

You nodded, rubbing anxiously over the scars on your arms with both your hands. You felt a chill creep down your body, but you weren’t cold, the evening air was still as warm as the day, despite the light breeze outside. “He was a bastard,” you choked, ignoring the stares you got, especially from Daryl. “I’m sorry about Andrea,” you looked to Michonne, “He deserved what he got.”

She nodded. There was silence for a bit, until, “When we were at the prison,” Michonne suddenly started, “he said something to me. Before I got him.” Her eyes darted between Rick’s and yours, as if this were news to everyone. “He said that we ‘had something of his’ and he’d ‘like it back’. That we ‘took _her’_ from him. That _she_ was his,” she swallowed nervously. “I thought he was talking about… his daughter or… I don’t know, he was out of his mind by then but… now…” she breathed, “I think he meant you.”

You swallowed down the bile and your muscles tensed. “He thought you freed me that night of the attack, and that I went back with you to the prison.”

She nodded.

You couldn’t look anyone in the eyes, not even Daryl.

“Why did he hold you prisoner?” Rick asked, his head tilted. But you couldn’t look at him for long. His question was too big. It involved too many secrets, too many things you never wanted to share with anyone.

“Why keep you there and feed you, why go to the trouble of comin’ to us to get you back? I know it wasn’t the only reason he attacked the prison but…”

You shook your head and you choked on a fresh wave of tears. You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell them that. You couldn’t tell them why because you had no clue. Was it some obsession? Was he just crazy? Did he like _owning_ people? You would never really know and you sure as hell wouldn’t tell them anything about it. Nothing more. Nothing of what he did to you. You were done.

You stood up. You turned toward the barn doors. You just needed some air, there wasn’t enough inside the barn.

“Y/N,” Daryl said, and he followed you to the doors, but you ignored his call.

You opened the door and shut it quickly. Your heart jumped up two or three more levels of fear. Your eyes were wide.

Daryl stood beside you and caught glimpse of your shock, “What?”

“Walkers.”

Then there was rain.

***

You and the others spent the whole night together pushing against the barn doors to keep it closed while the walker herd outside groaned and pushed to try and get inside. You weren’t entirely sure how many were outside but by the sound of it, there were too many to take on. Besides, everyone was so worn out from travel and dehydration, you’d only just gotten fresh, drinkable water and hadn’t really found much food.

You were surprised when it was morning. You must have fallen asleep along with everyone else sometime during the night. And the walkers… they must have moved on.

Everyone had scattered near the barn doors, asleep on their sides, their backs. Mumbling or snoring softly. The sun had barely started to come up.

You noticed a pair of arms wrapped around you from behind. It didn’t take a genius to know that they belonged to Daryl. You could hear his quiet, soft breathing in your ear and it suddenly felt like you were back in your tent on the farm all that time ago. Before walker herds, before the Governor, before Terminus… where it was safe. When you believed that you were safe.

Even though he didn’t know the details about Woodbury and about what happened with the Governor, he still held onto you. And that was what you needed.

Outside the barn, in the damp, moistened air surrounded by the dead, a pair of feet scuffed the grass and the wet dirt, and they brought another pair in tow. A man with a large backpack and seemingly faraway promises of a safe community.

Little did they know, it would change everything.


End file.
